


On your side - Always

by BlueM0nd4y



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Alternate Canon, Awkwardness, Denial of Feelings, Episode: s04e04 404 Not Found, Explicit Sexual Content, Fix-It, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Beta Read, Sexual Tension, Suicidal Thoughts, Tyrell Wellick Lives, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:49:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 35,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29844516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueM0nd4y/pseuds/BlueM0nd4y
Summary: There's something off about Mr. Robot's behavior.Elliot doesn't know, what he does know is just that he can't let Tyrell die in the woods.
Relationships: Elliot Alderson/Tyrell Wellick, Mr. Robot/Tyrell Wellick
Comments: 11
Kudos: 43





	1. Blank File

“Tyrell… are you ok?”

He turns, slowly. His face is blank, I can’t read it. Maybe it’s because of me, of my inadequacy in dealing with humans’ emotions, but Tyrell doesn’t look like a man who has just been shot. But he’s bleeding. The red stain expands visibly under our shocked gazes. 

Mr. Robot curses next to me. Tyrell is bleeding in the middle of nowhere, yeah, I think it’s pretty clear how the situation is gonna end. We need to act soon. 

I try to be reasonable, practical. 

“We need to get you in a hospital, man.” 

Am I worried about him? Somehow, it’s just difficult to believe the possibility that he can die. Why’s that? Maybe because Tyrell Wellick has been dead for a long time in my mind, because I even suspected that he didn’t exist at all. He can’t just… die, like this. That wouldn’t make any sense, would it? 

Tyrell shakes his head. He doesn’t look in pain. Is he in pain? Why am I asking this to you? You never answer. 

“No, no hospital. The Dark Army will find me and then will find you.”

He’s right. We can’t screw up everything like this. However, I can’t just accept it. I can’t just surrender at this truth.   
“We will figure something out, come on…”

He makes a step ahead and grabs my arm. His eyes are tearing mine. His brows are furrowed, but still, he doesn’t look in pain. I don’t want him to be. Shit. Why? 

“…Make sure you take care of Whiterose.” He recommends. Then, without adding anything, he just starts to walk away, staggering in an unstable gait. Mr. Robot is watching him without words, but I can perceive how upset he is. My breathing is faster now, am I starting to panic? I need to do something.

We can’t let him die. For us. I told him that I don’t care about him, but that was horseshit. You know that, don’t you? You figured it out. I feel bad, like, really bad. Maybe is just a sense of guilt, maybe that’s what is making me feel like this. 

“Tyrell! Stop!”

I reach him and grab his arm, making him turn to face me. This time, I see it. He grits his teeth in a pained grimace, keeping a hand on his wound. We need to take care of him fast; the snow has already been painted red. 

Tyrell looks at me. His eyes are lucid. Maybe he’s about to cry. Maybe that’s why he wants to move away, to cry alone, unseen. I can relate to that. I also can relate to how shitty crying alone makes you feel, and I have the feeling that he did a lot in the last months. Again, that stings in my chest, I feel bad. It’s a foreign sensation that I cannot ignore. 

“…I was lying.” My voice comes out cracked and distorted. I have a grip on my throat, something like an unswallowed mouthful. I need to get rid of it, otherwise, I won’t be able to breathe. 

“…I do care about you. And I don’t even know why, I don’t even know you.” 

His eyes have a new glimpse. Maybe it’s hope, or curiosity. He looks at me, head slightly tilted, half-illuminated in the darkness, and his eyes are shimmering. My grip on his arm doesn’t loosen. I gulp and look away, toward Mr. Robot, who is strangely silent, strangely wary. 

Mr. Robot cares about him, he can’t deny it. That’s why he has sat next to him when Tyrell had stopped, saying to leave him back. Maybe they’re friends. Does it make us friends too? 

“I can’t let you die here.” I say then, after a while. Tyrell is scanning me with that heavy gaze, the one that makes me feel exposed and flayed. He’s searching for the truth, perhaps. Searching for the cruel joke behind my words. I hurt him. 

His silence makes me uncomfortable. What now? Why isn’t he saying anything? He’s usually quite the talkative type. 

“…Please.” I add, feeling totally stupid. I expect Mr. Robot to comment on it, to say that I’m doing something wrong, but he has been silent all the time.  
Finally, Tyrell smiles at me. There’s always something melancholic about his smile, about how his eyes keep looking sad beside it. 

Tyrell squeezes my shoulder, for a moment, it’s like he’s trying to transmit some of his old confidence to me with the gesture. Then, he speaks in a hiss.   
“Thank you, Elliot…”

His eyes close and suddenly he loses his balance, falling almost dead weight on me. I keep him steady by his arms, finding myself in that strange hug. But Tyrell isn’t hugging me back. His head is on my shoulder and his hair tickles my frozen cheek. 

“Shit!” I spat, keeping the men difficultly standing. I talk to Mr. Robot, voice frantic. “We need to find someone! We need to…” he throws his arms in the air and groans in response. “What?! We’re in the middle of fucking nowhere, kiddo! What the fuck are we going to do?!” 

And it’s almost ironic how, at this precise moment, the flash of the headlights of an approaching vehicle lashes the thick mist. 

Maybe it is really a sign of god. Tyrell believes a lot in such things. But I don’t. I believe in probabilities and circumstances; I believe in an odd combination of varieties.   
And here’s one: Darlene stopping in front of us with a (probably) stolen car.

* * *

“Jesus fucking Christ Elliot!” She groans, slamming the steering wheel with her palms in exasperation. I ignore her while I move the barely conscious body of Tyrell in the backseats. 

“We need to get him to someone who can help. But no hospital.” I drily explain, placing myself next to the Swede, who’s mumbling something indefinite in his native language, now. I shut the door, and the heat of the car instantly revives my senses. It’s like I can realize only now how much I was freezing out there. 

Darlene sighs and runs a hand in her hair, looking totally riled up. Well, perhaps she’s right. Perhaps the circumstance of how she found me is a little strange. 

She turns toward me, glaring daggers in the dim light of the night. The sun will be up soon. Someone will find the burnt van that we have left behind, with the body of the Dark Army’s men in it. We need to get out of here. 

“Would you mind explain to me why the fuck did I find you in the middle of fucking nowhere with no one else than fucking Tyrell Wellick fucking bleeding to death on my backseats?!” 

“This car isn’t even yours.” I object, atone, causing a humorless laugh by Mr. Robot, who’s sitting next to my sister in the passenger seat.

Predictably, she grunts in frustration and dramatically slams her head on the steering wheel. “You’re fucking impossible, Elliot! You know that?! FUCKIN IMPOSSIBLE!”   
She’s screaming now. I can’t stand when she’s screaming. I get worked up. Easily. 

“THERE’S NO FUCKING TIME-”  
“I WAS WORRIED ABOUT YOU, DUMBASS!”

Her voice has raised a high-pitched tone that has overwhelmed mine. I get silent. Shit. Here’s the stinging sensation again in my chest, that infamous feeling. Guilt. Here comes again the guilt. 

It’s Mr. Robot who speaks in my place, oddly subverting our usual personalities by being the calmer one, in this precise situation. 

“Look… Darlene, I’m sorry I got you worried. And if it weren’t for you, we could have died by hypothermia tonight.”

She chews her cheek, diverting her gaze to the window. It’s working. 

“…And I’m sorry if I’m an asshole to you all the time. But it has been a very rough night and now we really need help.” Mr. Robot goes on. His words have the power to soothe her. She sighs, now looking tired, defeated. 

“…It wasn’t a shitty night only for you, Elliot.” 

She finally turns to face me. She’s giving me the apologetic look. Fuck! It stings, again. Then, she moves her gaze on Tyrell. He mumbles something incomprehensible, eyes half-lidded, a hand on his belly, now full of crimson blood. 

“I know a guy who can help him. He’s a vet, but he also does underground medical stuff, if you pay his silence.” She explains then. I can’t suppress the urge to roll my eyes in response.

“A fucking _vet_ , Darlene?!” 

Wrong possible choice. She gets all angry again in a second.

“Excuse me?! This is what I can offer to you. If you don’t like it, you can always fuck off, dude!”

Mr. Robot decides to intervene and raises his hands in surrender. “All right, all right! Vet is good.” he turns to me with a sly grin after that. “…He’s just a puppy dog, after all.” I can’t quite place his words, but I don’t care. Darlene starts to drive, finally, we leave the burning van behind our back while I check on Tyrell, who’s looking about to pass out. He’s even paler than the usual, and usually he’s as white as marble. 

“Inget sjukhus…” he mutters, feebly. 

“The fuck is he saying?!” Darlene spats, from the driver’s seat. I shrug it off. “I think it’s Swedish.” She tsks at that. 

“Sooo….” She starts, extending her voice more than necessary. “…What happened?” 

“Dark Army.” I exhale, tired. “The guy who shot him killed himself then.” I add then, dryly. My eyes are somehow glued to Tyrell. The rational part of my brain is saying that is because I want to make sure that he doesn’t lose consciousness. But the irrational part of my brain is staring at him without a particular reason. 

“…Right.” Darlene says while driving in the darkness. “Only you could disappear for hours just to be found with one of most famous dudes in the country half dead in the middle of the fucking woods.” She snarls and, perhaps, she has a point. But by now she should be used to me. 

Tyrell is not mumbling or whining in a low voice. His eyes are definitely closed, and his mouth is definitely shut. I instinctively pat his cheek to look for his reactions. There aren’t.  
“Tyrell, ehy, stay with me man. Come on.” 

He mumbles something, barely audible. My hand is still on his cheek. It’s frozen. 

“All right, yeah. Stay with us a little more. Say something. Everything.” 

Finally, Tyrell opens his eyes and points them on me. His eyelids look heavy, like he’s struggling to stay awake. 

“Elliot…” he whispers, voice hoarse. For some strange reason, I feel a chill on my spine at that. I don’t know why. And I don’t even know why my hand is on his now, without realizing that. 

Mr. Robot speaks again from his seat. I see him speaking ahead of me, but I know that what comes out must be my voice, a few inches from Tyrell’s face.   
“That’s good. Speak again. Do it for me.” 

There’s something off in Mr. Robot’s voice, something that I can’t place. His tone is too soft, too kind. It’s not in his character. I shot him an inquisitive glance, but he’s avoiding eye contact with me, on purpose. Almost like he’s hiding something.

Tyrell smiles and exhales a feeble whisper into my ear. 

“…Everything for you, min skatt.”  
I shiver. Badly.

* * *

“So… what’s the deal with you two?” Darlene casually asks, sitting next to me in the waiting room, her long legs stretched out and her arms crossed. Tyrell is behind the door, under the instruments of the corrupted vet Darlene has paid for his service, who’s now extracting the bullet from Tyrell’s guts. 

I talk with my eyes glued to the ground.   
“I don’t know what you are talking about.” 

“Dude.” She squints at me. “Don’t give me this shit. I felt a very, very weird homo vibe in the car before. Like, since when you hold hands with someone?! You don’t even like being touched!” 

Fuck. She’s crazy, she must be. No, maybe she’s just trying to annoy me because I disappeared all night, getting her worried sick. Yeah, it must be a trick. But what if it’s not? What if she’s right? I don’t know what’s going on in my head either. 

I look at Mr. Robot, who’s standing in front of me, his back pressed to the wall and an unreadable expression on his face. I speak to my sister with my eyes pointed at him. He’s keeping something from me, it must be. 

“Bullshits.” 

She rolls her eyes, apparently irritated. 

“Dude… come on. What’s the deal? You know that I’m bi myself. My last laid, embarrassingly too long ago, was a freaking FBI agent… so, no judgment, really.” 

It’s not that. It’s not that I care about labels. She knows. I couldn’t give a shit about screwing a dude, it’s just that she’s seeing things where they don’t exist. I mean, yeah, maybe Tyrell had a thing for me, I don’t know. Not that I really cared. 

“Besides…” she resumes, after a while. “…He’s really, really the exact opposite of my type, capitalist scumbag and so on. But I guess he’s quite… good-looking, isn’t he?” I freeze at these words.

This time I can’t resist. I groan and grip my hair in exasperation. What the fuck is she babbling about?! She’s totally driving me insane.

“Drop it, Darlene!”   
“Dude! Jesus, I’m trying to help you, asshole!”

I shot her an inquisitive look. She’s nibbling her lip. She looks wary, nervous, even. 

“…You never talk to me. I just want to know what’s going on in your head.”

I know I’m an asshole. Thing is, I can’t behave differently. I am grateful toward her, but I can’t show it. I can’t even recognize my own emotions, because most of the time they aren’t really mine. But you know that, don’t you, my friend?   
So, I act as I always do. Like a total jerk. 

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

I jump on my feet and storm out of the room, reaching the bathroom. The air was starting to feel heavy and I really, really needed to escape from the turn that conversation was taking. 

I look at my reflection in the mirror of the bathroom, Mr. Robot is behind me. Again, why is he this silent? Something is off. I glare at him through the reflex of my image.   
“She’s tripping, right?”

He doesn’t answer. Just stares back, face blank, impassive. 

“Right?” I urge him. After what is felt like an eternity, he sighs, takes off his hat and runs a hand through his hair. “Tyrell was a loose cannon. The guy is a psychopath, out of control. I needed to keep him loyal to my cause, our cause.” A chill runs through my spine. I don’t like the vibe I perceive from his words. 

“…And?”   
“I may have exploited the little crush he has on us.”  
“What do you mean ‘exploited’?!” 

Mr. Robot doesn’t speak back. Doesn’t divert his gaze from mine either. For a moment, he looks about to say something, then, his mouth closes again. As if he has changed his mind among the way. 

“Answer me!” I yell, gripping the edge of the sink. 

“…I fucked him.” 

The sick suspicion that has started to creep in my brain was correct. I grit my teeth in anger, suppressing the urge to slam my head on the mirror, breaking it into pieces. 

“YOU… started to fuck people behind my back?! Do you understand how sick that is?!”

There’s a part of me that is boiling in anger and shame. But there’s another one that wants to cry. How many people did he fuck? That’s beyond too much.

“Just him!” Mr. Robot spats back, gripping my shoulder and making me turn to face him. He talks a few inches to my face. “…And, by the way, he liked it. Oh, you have no idea how much he did…”

My stomach makes a disgusted twitch.

“Using people through sex is sick.” I snarl. Mr. Robot scoffs at that. “Oh yeah? Then what the fuck did you do with Olivia, yesterday?!” 

I can’t answer anything with sense to that. He’s…. right. 

“That was different, I was…” I stutter, but he promptly interrupts me. “When will you realize that I am a part of you?! Do you really think that we’re that different?!” he pokes my chest, making me flinch. “Elliot. You’re not a good person.”

I gasp, suddenly without words. 

“…Because there’s no such thing as good and bad. Morality is not that simple. Do you understand that, Elliot?!” he’s yelling in my face and I can just blink and stare at him speechless. 

“What is inside of me is inside of you.” He proceeds, with his index pointed on my chest. “We fucked him because we needed to control him, because we needed to use him. Because we hated him, what he represents to us, but at the same time, we wanted to own him. Because we find him attractive, we like the way he makes us feel adored and praised.”

I bring my hands to my ears while I feel like my brain is exploding. No, no. I don’t wanna hear that. That’s not me, it’s him. He’s sick, there’s something completely fucked up about him. He’s cruel, and mean. I’m not that type of person, he’s just fucking with my head as fucking usual. 

I shove him and walk past him toward the door of the bathroom, finding my sister on the other side, scanning me from top to button, her arm crossed and a concentrated frown on her face. 

“You alright?” she asks, receiving a noncommittal hum in response.   
“Tyrell is out of danger.” She declares then. “He’s still unconscious due to the drugs. Do you want to see him?”

Hell, no. I don’t even want to talk about him. I wish I could just forget his existence, like, at all. I wish I could, after what I discovered this night. The thought that I fucked him, that Mr. Robot fucked him, brings a heavy dose of shame. The worst part is not remembering a thing about it. How did it happen? How many times? 

Did I… Did I like it?

Shit. I don’t want to think about this. No, I want to forget. We need to go on, I can’t let something like this have the power to crush my mind. 

“No.” I declare, firmly. “We need to stick to the plan. We’re out of time. Let’s go.” I push past her toward the exit. I feel her perplexed gaze pointed at me. She stays motionless, hesitant, for a few seconds. I must stop on my spot and look at her. Why’s that? Can’t she just drop it? Can’t she just stop to try to understand me? It’s annoying, and a lost cause.   
“Elliot…” she exhales, giving me the apprehensive look. 

“We’ll get him after Virtual Realty. He’s going to join a meeting with Price and Whiterose tonight. He needs to be in shape.” 

“Jesus, Elliot! He has been shot. Are you sure he’s gonna make it?”   
“He must.” 

Darlene looks about to say something back, but this something never comes. She’s… interdicted. 

“We all have our part in the plan.” I say then, putting up the hood. “We can’t let anything interfere.” I add, after a while, and I’m not sure who am I talking with this time. Perhaps myself.


	2. System Crash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The kiss was just part of the strategy, it wasn't supposed to feel that way. However, nothing changes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friend!
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy this, there is smut ahead, I hope you don't mind. You have been warned :)

“Give me an hour.” 

Mr. Robot doesn’t plea or beg. Mr. Robot requires and gets what he wants. 

Irving squints at him, placing his hands on his hips. “Now, tell me a good reason of why the heck should I do that.” he spats, voice full of irony. Mr. Robot doesn’t flinch. He stares at the other man, clenching his fists, resolute. He’s going to gain what he’s looking for, as usual. 

“My friend, I’m just being pragmatic here. You know the type. The guy is a lunatic, we need to make sure he doesn’t fuck everything up. He’s going to stay here for a while, doesn’t he?” 

Irving responds with a noncommittal hum, scratching his chin, pensive. He talks after a discrete amount of time, spent just in reasoning. Calculating.  
“…Alright. Alright.” He exhales, raising his hands in surrender. “...Follow me, big shot. He’s a little bit upset, keep asking about his wife and… you.” 

Mr. Robot doesn’t offer any type of reaction to that information, like it isn’t relevant at all for him. He follows Irving through the corridor, and soon they arrive in a big room. That place is surprisingly cozy, considering the fact that it is some kind of prison in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. 

Tyrell is sitting on the bed, dressed sharply in his suit, his palms pressed on his eyes. Looking miserable and desperate. What’s new?  
When they enter the room, he lifts his gaze on them and gasps in surprise. His eyes are swollen and tired, looking almost bluer than the usual with that shade of sadness in his look. 

“Elliot…” he murmurs, moving slowly his hands down, on his knees. He seems lost. 

“Alright, I’ll leave you guys alone.” Irving declares, moving toward the door. He twists on his spot and points an inquisitive finger at Robot. “…One hour.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Is the dry response that Mr. Robot tells. Tyrell is scrutinizing them with his big baby eyes, still sitting on the bed, trying to decipher the situation.

Irving goes out and closes the door behind him. However, Mr. Robot knows that there’s no space for plotting an escape. It would be stupid, also. Tyrell will be soon the most wanted man in the world and needs Dark Army’s protection. But he must be patient and try not to screw everything up, acting recklessly. Robot just needs to make sure Tyrell keeps being loyal and obedient to him, that’s why he’s here. 

The Swede jumps on his feet and makes a few steps toward him. He has a heavy frown now, looking almost angry, on edge, with that crazy glimpse of his glare.  
“What’s happening?!” 

Mr. Robot stares back, a few inches from his face. Keeps the eye-contact. 

“You’re gonna stay here for a while. But you already know that, don’t you?” 

As he expected, Tyrell gets instantly all worked up.  
“What does it mean?! What am I going to do in this shithole?! Why are you leaving me here?!” he spits out to Mr. Robot’s face, hissing through his teeth, venomous. Mr. Robot knows how the guy tends to burst, so, he speaks back with a low voice, soothing, as you would do with a barking dog. Try to calm him down infusing some confidence. 

“Tyrell… it’s temporary, and necessary, ok?”

At this tone, Tyrell’s angry frown immediately loosens, replaced by the same sad tiredness of before. He sighs and diverts his gaze, pointing it to the floor. 

“Hey…” Mr. Robot cups his cheek with one hand, gently moving his chin to make him face him. He knows which button to press to get what he wants. Now giving him some tenderness is the best jolly card he can play. 

“Look at me. You need to be patient, ok? Don’t do anything stupid. Just wait here for me.” 

Tyrell is looking wary and confused. He opens his mouth to say something and stops, freezing, uncertain. Mr. Robot starts to stroke his cheek, and the guy almost flinches under that unexpected touch. 

“Just wait here for me.” Mr. Robot repeats. He doesn’t sound severe; it doesn’t need to appear like an order. Tyrell will do anything he asks if he’s going to play the right moves. He gets closer to the Swede, never stopping stroking his cheek. He speaks low and careful, almost on his lips. 

“…Can you do that for me?”  
Tyrell stares at him, wide-eyed. He nods slightly. “Y-yeah…”  
Mr. Robot smiles, then, leans forward and kisses the side of his mouth. “…Good.” 

Looks like the gesture has made Tyrell’s brain crashing, because he’s now gasping and trembling slightly. 

“At the arcade… you said…” he mumbles. Yeah, Mr. Robot knows what he has said. Doesn’t need a reminder. That was before getting involved in all that fucked up situation with the freaking Dark Army.

“I know. Doesn’t matter now.” He whispers, gently, on Tyrell’s mouth. Then, he cancels the distance and brings his lips to the Swede’s. Technically speaking, this is Mr. Robot’s first kiss. He has always been in Elliot’s mind, without having control of his actions. So, this is the first time he has full power over his decisions.  
Tyrell’s lips are surprisingly soft. Surprisingly comfortable. Robot moves his hand on the man’s hair, and it’s smooth and soft exactly as he expected. Soon, Tyrell’s tongue is knocking on his mouth, and Robot gladly indulges. It feels… good. Wonder. He doesn’t know if it is because kissing makes you feel this way in general or because Tyrell is a particularly good one, he doesn’t have concrete material to analyze it. 

But, yeah, that wasn’t exactly expected, but it feels great. For some strange reason, his heart is hammering madly in his chest, while his mind is hit by a strange layer of dizziness, as if he were on drugs. 

Their tongues dance for a while, their hands slide everywhere, studying each other’s bodies. Tyrell bits his lip, then, he moves to his jawline, kissing everything while Mr. Robot instinctively brings a hand on the guy’s nape in an inviting gesture. 

He’s good. It’s intoxicating. Robot is just driven by the irrational part of him, following the flow. It’s when Tyrell’s hand moves to the evident bulge of his (Elliot’s) jeans that he snaps out of his state of trance and decides to get a grip. 

He hisses a feeble “stop” and takes a step back, panting in shock. Tyrell looks wrecked: his hair is disheveled, cheeks flushed, pupils blown. 

He’s… beautiful.  
Damn, more than that. He doesn’t even look real. 

Mr. Robot swallows, reminding himself about what he’s doing right now. The kiss was just part of the strategy, it wasn’t supposed to feel that way. However, nothing changes.  
Tyrell is shocked and confused by his reaction. He talks with a broken, trembling voice. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… if you don’t want it…”

Robot tries to recollect his façade and puts up a lascivious smirk. He cups Tyrell’s cheek and the man instantly tilts his head to the touch, tenderly. His reactions are mesmerizing to watch. He’s like a gracious animal, an interesting creature. Mr. Robot can’t help it: the idea of owning him gives him a thrill into his spine, a spark of power. He wishes it didn’t.  
“It’s ok, sweetheart.” 

Tyrell exhales a shaky breath at the pet name. It should be pathetic, the desperate research of this man for Elliot’s attention, and it is, indeed, but Mr. Robot can’t avoid feeling turned on even more at man’s eager reaction. He’s so needy, like a lost puppy. Robot could ask him anything, anything, even to get on his knees and suck him off right now. He would do it, without hesitation. Just the idea sends a strong chill into his spine.

“I want that too.” He declares, making Tyrell gasping in response. Jeez… the guy got it so bad for Elliot. He could almost feel pity for him.  
“…But all in good time.” 

Tyrell nods, vaguely comforted by the subtle promise to have sex with Elliot. Now, that’s for sure: the guy will follow Mr. Robot’s instructions like a brainless soldier.  
He strokes the Swede’s cheek, again. Soft, sweet and warm. Tyrell closes his eyes and exhales, melting at the touch. 

It’s strange, though. Tyrell is not an idiot: he’s pretty smart. He has got that clever brain of him, but it looks like he’s totally socially dumb, exactly as Elliot. Tyrell pretends all the time: he’s not that confident, strong businessman he wants to appear. He’s a weirdo, an outsider. Insecure, frail, needy. Malleable. 

“Now… what are you going to do, sweetie?” 

Mr. Robot has to admit: that game he’s playing, it’s bringing a lot of fun. He could go on for a while, playing Wellick at his mercy, reducing him like the scared, little lamb that he is. 

“I wait.” Tyrell responds, obedient, searching the approving look of Mr. Robot. He grins and moves his hand on the Swede’s nape, squeezing it. He needs a final confirmation. He needs to be certain. 

“Are you gonna do that for me?” he asks, a few inches from the man’s face. Again, a nod. “…Everything for you, min skatt.” He whispers, then, gaining the satisfaction of Mr. Robot who pats his neck, a little roughly. 

“That’s damn right! Good boy.” 

He finally makes a step back, interrupting the contact, leaving Tyrell a bit dumbfounded and disoriented at the sudden change of Mr. Robot’s acting.  
“I’ll see you soon. Now hold on, behave, and don’t do anything stupid.” 

Mr. Robot takes a few steps toward the exit, but Tyrell’s voice calling Elliot’s name stops him. He twists to the Swede, but this one looks suddenly out of words. Maybe he is pondering in his head, maybe he’s just keeping back his unspoken love or something. 

After a few seconds spent just in silence, Mr. Robot decides to drop it and exit the room with just a last, quick, nod.

* * *

The second time happens in the Red Wheelbarrow’s basement. 

Mr. Robot wrinkles his nose at the heavy smell that fills the air. Having Tyrell trapped in a place so shabby is surprisingly out of character, almost hilarious. 

He finds the man sitting on his bed, his hands gripping his hair in desperation. Looks like this is about to become the leitmotiv of Robot’s private visits to him: to find him alone, ruined and wrecked. At least, it’s easier to handle him when he’s like this: breakable, frantically looking for support. Without his wife guiding his leash, it’s almost like Tyrell doesn’t have any idea of how to act following his own will. 

He lifts his chin and gasps in surprise at the sight of Mr. Robot. For some strange reason, just the sad, needy expression of the Swede is enough to give him a pleasant chill to his spine. He could live for shit like that.

“Elliot…” Tyrell exhales, his eyes widened and hair disheveled. Even his shirt doesn’t look exactly at the right place, with the collar out of place and the necktie loosened up a bit. He gets on his feet and takes a few tentative steps toward Robot, looking totally about to cry. 

Mr. Robot grins lasciviously. “Ehy, sweetheart. Missed me, did ya?” he knows how the pet names and being treated like a dumb puppy dog gets to the man’s dick, so, he goes with the acting. Tyrell sighs and diverts his gaze, as if he’s trying to hide the uncontrollable tears that are knocking on his eyes. 

“I’m so sorry…” his voice is barely audible. Mr. Robot approaches, cautiously, as you would do with a wounded animal. Studying the guy’s reaction. Tyrell is still not looking at him. He clenches his fists and gulps, swallowing back the imminent tears, struggling to keep doing it. He’s almost… sweet. In a sick way. How can a psycho fucker like him have features that soft? He looks like a grown-up child, with those baby blue eyes and smooth skin… he acts like one too, though. 

“It’s alright. You did what you had to do. What I asked you to.” Mr. Robot talks with a low voice, soothing. Tyrell shakes his head, with that child-like trademark grimace of him on his face. 

“You kept saying that I wasn’t real… you kept saying that I didn’t exist…” he ends up letting out a strangled sob, head turned to hide his distress to Robot. This one internally sighs at the pathetic show of weakness of the Swede, but, again, what is new? 

He takes a step forward and cups the man’s wet cheeks, rubbing his thumbs on them. Sweet, soft, tender. It’s love what this lunatic wants and needs. And Mr. Robot can pretend to give it to him. 

“It’s ok. You’re real. Aren’t you?” he whispers to Tyrell’s lips, making him exhale a half-laugh in response. “I guess so.” he inhales Mr. Robot’s scent and moves an icy cold hand to his nape, squeezing it gently. Mr. Robot tries not to show how he shivers under the cold touch. Then, Tyrell smiles, the same melancholic smile, the one with a particular shade of sadness in it. 

“…This feels very real.” his voice comes out low as a whisper on Mr. Robot’s mouth while his other hand has moved on his back, drawing circles. Robot gulps, suddenly feeling debated about what to do. He has made his show with the guy, now he could easily draw back and get back to work. No need to get all mushy. 

But before he can think about anything, Tyrell’s lips are on his, demanding. Jesus… give the guy an inch and he’ll take a mile. The Swede is needy. 

Mr. Robot can’t get away from that kiss. Maybe doesn’t want to. Perhaps it’s just legitimate curiosity. The first time they kissed it was good, more than good. Intoxicating. He wants to give it another try. 

He melts in the kiss. All of a sudden, there is just Tyrell, everywhere. His hands, his mouth, the electricity from the contact… Tyrell is overwhelming. The guy knows his shit: that’s for sure. Knows how to be a hella good kisser, how to make Mr. Robot’s knees turn jelly-like. 

They part to gain back some air, Mr. Robot’s hands are gripping Tyrell’s collar, finding himself instinctively in the act of loosening the tie more. Here is where he should stop and get a grip, realizing that is clearly undressing Tyrell and clearly giving him a certain idea. The man lowers his gaze on Robot’s hands. Then, he lifts it up to him and he suddenly looks bold. Almost confident. As if Mr. Robot’s not too subtle arousal has given the guy the certainty that he desires him, badly. 

He smirks, the Swedish fucker.

“Let me help you.” He says, slipping off the tie from his neck. “I guess you’re not very practical in the matter of neckties, aren’t you, Elliot?” he teases then, and Jeez! Mr. Robot should punish him for his insolence. He can’t keep back the snark remark that comes out of his mouth. “Not everyone is a stuck-up upper businessman, sweetheart.” For a moment, there’s a glimpse of annoyance in Tyrell’s eyes. A quick glare. But is soon replaced with a new, quick surprised expression when Robot orders him to get on his knees. But is just as fast as the flash of lightening; Tyrell soon indulges the other man’s request and drops on his knees without complaints. 

It’s not the first time that the Swede is on his knees for him, but this time is different. Mr. Robot didn’t know how turned on he could get from Tyrell’s sweet obedience, the first one. 

He gently caresses Tyrell’s cheek, rubbing his thumb on the man’s cheekbone. Tyrell is motionless, looking at him with a heavy gaze. He knows what he must do, but he is deliberately choosing to wait for Robot’s request. Like a puppet. 

His devotion causes a strange sense of satisfaction in Robot. He can’t help it, he can’t stop, not now. 

“You know how to do it, don’t you, sweetcheeks?” he purrs, never stopping petting the man’s cheek. Tyrell, as to prove it, slowly tilts his head, parts his mouth, and takes two of Robot’s fingers into it. He does it with his eyes pointed on Robot’s, firm and resolute, almost in a frown. And. Holy shit. 

He does know his shit. 

He sucks the fingers, eagerly, slowly, looking like he’s loving every inch of them. His wet tongue swirls on Robot’s digits and, fuck, Robot needs to bite his cheek to avoid showing how impossibly aroused he has become. Tyrell is doing a fucking show. The greedy bastard. His eyes half-lidded, chin wet with saliva, light-brown locks messily on his front…  
He draws back, a trail of saliva attached from his mouth to Robot’s fingers, and moves his eyes on him. His gaze is so intense and impossibly hot that Mr. Robot can’t hold back the words that come out of his mouth. 

“Fuck… you’re gorgeous.” 

The corners of Tyrell’s lips curl into a tiny smirk, then, he moves his hands on Robot’s belt, starting to fumble. 

“Let me…” he mumbles, but then he trails off, suddenly vaguely uncertain, waiting silently for Robot’s permission. Robot moves a hand on his soft, smooth hair, and lets out a shaky laugh. “Of course. Of course, sweetheart…” and the Swede grins. Satisfied, like a child who has just gained his treat. Hot as hell. That face has the power to go straight to Mr. Robot’s dick. 

Exactly as Robot expected from him, Tyrell sucks him hardcore, ruining his throat, not caring about his wellbeing. It’s impossible to resist much, and he really needs to use all his self-restraint to avoid ending embarrassingly soon. Not that he could care with Tyrell, but still… showing the guy how his mind has been fucked up by him is showing his weakness. But, to be honest, it’s already pretty clear how good Tyrell has been in making Robot losing his composure. 

Tyrell swallows everything, eager, pointing his blue irises on him, obscene and beautiful. He leaves him panting, shocked in bliss for a few seconds, while Tyrell lasciviously licks his lips and gets on his feet.

Robot is just gasping. He would want to say a lot of things, for example complimenting Tyrell, telling him how good he is, suddenly taken aback by some sort of strange gratefulness toward the guy. Instead, what he does is kissing him, messy, almost frantic. He tastes himself on Tyrell’s tongue. It’s gross. Disgusting. It’s not.  
When he draws back, he moves his eyes on the evident bulge in Tyrell’s trousers. 

“We should do something for it, what you think?” 

Tyrell widens his eyes, apparently surprised by Robot’s statement. Perhaps he didn’t expect to get a reciprocal treatment, and it’s low and incredibly too servile but fuck it, the guy has earned it. 

“Let’s move on the bed, shall we?” he speaks gently to Tyrell’s mouth, receiving a nod in response. Damn. The guy is cute. 

Mr. Robot places himself on the Swede’s lap on the creaking bed and starts to fumble with his belt. When he grabs the other man’s length, he feels his mouth watering. Tyrell is leaking, impossibly hard. 

“There you go…” Robot singsongs, starting to slowly stroke Tyrell, causing a muffled whimper from the Swede in reaction. It’s the sweetest sound ever. Mr. Robot looks mesmerized Tyrell’s pretty face contorted by pleasure. He didn’t know how being the giving part in that play could be that good. Looking at him, biting back his moans, is as good as receiving the hella good blowjob he has just got. 

He goes on for a while, until he realizes how close Tyrell is by the way his breathing is going frantic. Mr. Robot’s mind is flashed by a wicked idea that he’s sure Tyrell will indulge.  
“Now… I want you to come when I tell you. Can you do that for me, sweetie?” he speaks in a soft tone to the man’s ear. Tyrell, of course, nods, panting hard into Mr. Robot’s neck. “Everything… for you, min skatt.” Robot grins at what has become the usual exchange of lines of them, and fastens the pace. 

“On my three.” He declares. Tyrell swallows and bites his lip, looking already painfully trying to hold back himself.

“One…”  
He lets out a strangled moan.

“Two…”  
A whimper, almost a cry.

“Two and a half…”  
Tyrell glares at him: shocked, outraged. Mr. Robot is smirking lasciviously, not caring to slow down the steady strokes, driving the poor Swede crazy. “Helvete!” he hisses between his teeth, and Robot finally decides to have mercy for him. 

“…Three. Come for me, sweetheart.”  
And he does. Hard, almost painfully. Robot brings his mouth on his and swallows his orgasm, muffling the man’s cry of release.  
There’s just silence after, aside from the sound of their frantic breaths.

They stay like that, front to front, gaining air. Then, Robot kisses him. And it’s strange, because it comes out like a tender kiss, sloppy, even. Robot decides not to think too much about it. It’s just his mind still struck by the afterglow. 

Then, Tyrell adjusts himself and moves toward a small cabinet, leaving Robot blinking dumbfounded, feeling strangely dumb by the Swede’s sudden movement. He gets back with a few tissues and, without saying anything, like that’s the most normal thing in the world, he kneels in front of Robot and starts to clean off his hand, still covered in semen.  
Robot finds himself a little caught off guard. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, stupidly, because it is pretty clear, after all. Tyrell doesn’t move his gaze from his action, he seems even focused on it. 

“Cleaning you.” He just declares. 

After at least something like thirty seconds, Tyrell apparently decides that he’s satisfied with his job. He finally lifts his chin to Mr. Robot, talking all serious, eyes in a frown.  
“This is the best that I can do. You will need to wash your hands for the rest.” 

Robot doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know how to react. He ends up exhaling a small laugh, out of control. 

“You’re weird as fuck, you know that?”

Tyrell glares at him at that, suddenly looking offended, as if Robot had hit a sore spot. Perhaps it is, a sore spot. Perhaps a lot of people have called Tyrell that way.  
So, he clarifies.

“…I like it.”

* * *

The third time, predictably, is after Price has left Tyrell’s house. 

Tyrell is leaning on his elbows on the counter, looking, as usual, wretched and desperate. Mr. Robot has just finished telling him how exploitable his new position of CTO is. Tyrell doesn’t seem happy about it, and honestly, Robot can’t blame him. The guy has really lost anything, after all. Sure, he has forced himself in Robot’s revolution: nobody ever asked him to join. He has caused his own pain due to his greediness, and that’s how things ended for him.

He knows something has definitely snap after Elliot’s fucked up on their plan. Tyrell has looked at him with a new shade of scorn into his glare; has told him that he once _loved_ him. Sure, Robot has lost his mind with him, literally trying to strangle the guy to death. But he had never thought that quarrel could have been the ‘end’ of the ‘thing between them’, as Tyrell called it. 

The end of Tyrell’s loyalty. 

No, the Swede was just pissed and had erupted in one of his usual violent outbursts, but his loyalty must have remained for Robot’s cause, Robot’s persona. This is why he had to make sure, had to make sure to still have him in his clutches. 

That Irving freaky guy. He has understood Tyrell, has understood how to control and manipulate him for the Dark Army’s sake. Tyrell is just, as usual, oblivious. After the loss of Joanna and his son, the man is totally on edge. 

But Robot, deep down, can’t avoid a strange empathetic feeling toward him. He tells himself that it has nothing to do with the fact that they had shared an intimate moment in that freaking Red Wheelbarrows’ basement. He tells himself that he hasn’t absolutely thought about that after it happened.  
But that’s a lie. 

Sure, Mr. Robot can stay focused on the bigger plan behind it. Can avoid getting lost in trivial childish feelings. Feelings. There aren’t. There is something above them all. 

_You’re just seeing what’s in front of you. You’re not seeing what’s above you._

He tells himself that it is just for the cause when he moves a hand on Tyrell’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. Keep him loyal. Exploit his CTO position. That’s what is all about.  
“Hey…” he exhales, low voice. “It’s gonna be ok. We’ll fix this.” he’s not sure what they’ll fix, he’s not sure what is he talking about. Tyrell doesn’t look at him, but, with his eyes pointed on the surface of the counter, he moves a hand on Robot’s one on his shoulder, and holds it. It’s an odd romantic gesture, almost couple-like, but Robot doesn’t retrieve to the touch. As if their hands together are the peace contract, the sudden display of tenderness after all the mess of that night. 

Robot feels a grip in his throat. It’s a foreign sensation, seems more like in Elliot’s style than his. He can’t quite place it. 

After a while, Tyrell sighs and finally looks at him. His eyes are full of pain and for some strange reason, the sight makes Robot’s guts twitch. 

Tyrell moves a hand on Robot’s cheek, where he has been punched by him just a short time before. 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have beat you.” He exhales, diverting his gaze and lowering his hand, making Robot stupidly craving the contact, even if it doesn’t make any sense.  
He lets out a small cackle. “It’s ok. I was pushing you.” Tyrell doesn’t react to his words, doesn’t move his eyes on him. Robot gets surprisingly riled up by the avoidance of the man. He fakes it making another chuckle and rubbing his chin absently. “I have to say. You really know how to throw a punch. I’m pleasantly surprised.” 

Tyrell finally looks at him, but on his face there is no hoped reaction. As if his happiness has been drained, leaving just a cold, icy glare. 

Suddenly, Mr. Robot feels self-conscious. And that’s stupid, because he realizes that he’s internally debating about the fact that he wishes to get the Swede’s hands on him and his apparent disinterest is making him feel nervous. 

He makes another attempt, this time going a little bit further. 

“I mean… excellent cocksucker, excellent puncher. How many qualities can a man have?” 

Wrong possible choice of words. To remind Tyrell what they did in that damn basement is not the brightest idea, because the Swede’s glare goes even icier. And Robot hates himself for feeling like an idiot, because that’s not on him. 

Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with this guy?! Just not much time before he was ready to crawl on Robot’s feet to get a little bit of attention, and now, why is he giving him the detached treatment?! And why the fuck does it sting so much?!

He said he loved him. Then, he said he _had loved_ him. Maybe it’s really like that, maybe Tyrell has gone past him. Has really lost his adoration for him. But it sounds wrong and impossible, because Robot thought that Tyrell’s loyalty could never be debated, could never break. 

“I’m sorry.” Tyrell’s voice is flat and emotionless. Formal, even. He’s not really apologizing. “I’m tired. Would you mind leave me alone?” 

And shit. The cold politeness. Robot can’t fucking handle it. He knows he should pretend as nothing happened, but he simply can’t. The grip in his throat is expanding, making impossible to breathe. This can’t be happening, this isn’t right.

He clenches his fists and grits his teeth, frowning in anger and shame under the cold gaze of Tyrell. 

“You said…” he starts, but his voice trails off, caught by a vague sense of self-preservation. He can’t, he can’t fall that low. Not for Tyrell fucking Wellick.  
Tyrell sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. Stressed. How DARE he acts stressed?! Robot can’t stand it. 

“What? What did I say, Elliot? Please, tell me, so we can get over it. I’m fucking tired, ok? I told you, you’re not welcome in my house.” Tyrell is losing his composure again, getting on edge. This time, Robot can’t help it: he snaps. 

“You said you don’t love me anymore!” it comes out too loud, too desperate, too pathetic. Tyrell gasps in surprise, but soon recovers his façade. “…This is not relevant.” He just states, after a while, diverting his gaze.

Robot scoffs. “Not relevant?” he repeats, in a mockery tone. “Not relevant?!” 

It’s a sudden burst of anger that invades him. Good. Anger is better, he can deal with that. Tyrell’s stubbornness in avoiding eye contact is making his hands itch for a fight, again. So, he grips the man’s shoulder, roughly, forcing him to twist.

“Fucking look at me when I speak to you, you dumb motherfucker!” he snarls, with hatred. But when he meets the other man’s gaze, all the anger evaporates. Tyrell’s eyes are glassy, his jaw clenched in the vain attempt to hold back the tears. He lets out a strangled sob while a single tear starts running on his cheek. 

His voice comes out cracked. 

“I’m telling you… I can’t keep doing this. This-” he gestures towards them, allusive. “Whatever this is. I really, do… have feelings for you. And I lost everything, everything. I’m about to become CTO and I… can’t hold on like this. You… you don’t understand what it means, do you?” he scoffs then, bitter. “…No, you don’t. You can’t. I have a lot on me right now and you…” he pokes to Mr. Robot’s chest, making him almost flinch at the gesture. “…You’re making things worse.” 

Making things worse. For some reason, it stings. 

Tyrell draws back and runs his hands in the hair. He’s trembling now, slightly, looking on the verge to explode. 

“…I can’t do this.” he exhales, then, and suddenly the grip in Mr. Robot’s throat becomes tighter. “You can!” he spits back, disguising his pain with anger.  
Tyrell shakes his head.  
“Elliot. You don’t understand. I’m… I’m breaking. Falling into pieces. Don’t do this to me. I have never lied about what I feel for you.” 

Fuck, it can’t be. No, this doesn’t make any sense. It’s nonacceptable, non fucking negotiable. He doesn’t have a say. 

So, Robot just acts without thinking. He grips the man’s shirt collar and rudely cancels the distance between them, muffling Tyrell’s surprised gasp with his lips.  
It’s just a peck, but he presses his mouth on Tyrell’s almost angrily, clenching the collar tight. 

He parts after a short time and hisses a few inches from the man’s face.

“You will kiss me.”

It’s an order. Tyrell bites his lip while another tear runs on his cheek.  
God. He’s beautiful. Damn him. 

“Elliot…” he whispers, and it almost sounds like a plea that causes a violent chill into Robot’s spine. He relaxes a little and loosens the grip on the collar, moving his hand on Tyrell’s nape, squeezing it with an insane amount of gentleness. 

“It’s ok.” he says, again, without knowing exactly what he is talking about. He just needs to reassure Tyrell, to soothe him, to wipe those tears dry. “It’s ok.” he repeats, almost to himself. Tyrell is not drawing back, but he’s not moving either. It’s like he’s debated. Perhaps he knows that he should cut it, tell Robot to get out from his house and push him away. 

But he can’t, because he’s sickly in love. And sickly in need of love.

Mr. Robot doesn’t even know if he’s still keeping telling himself that this is all about the plan when he kisses him. When he finally finds Tyrell kissing him back, encircling his shoulder with his strong arms. 

The kiss becomes heated and passionate, desperate and sad. 

Mr. Robot keeps thinking that this about having Tyrell at his mercy. An obedient dog. This is not about him, needing Tyrell as well and not being ready to finish that insane, cruel game he started. 

He doesn’t need him. He has never fucking needed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friend!
> 
> I'm in the groove and I really hope you liked it :) 
> 
> I wasn't planning on adding too detailed sex scenes, just leaving it subtext, but I guess thing got out of control. 
> 
> I'll keep writing about Tyrell doing weird and compulsive stuff because I love the weirdo side of that character! Again, I apologize for the typos, and thanks for your support! it means a lot. Stay tuned :)


	3. Bug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Dude, you look like Patrick Bateman from Santa's village."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friend.
> 
> Here a huge one! I hope you like it.

Hello friend.

This is the second time I enter Darlene’s new car, and this is the second time that it feels like salvation. I had to spend a lot just getting back my breath. In and out. Inhale exhale.  
The irruption at Virtual Realty has been mad, and I still can’t figure out how it even ended up well for us. But it did, in the end, that’s all that matters. 

My leg pounds like hell for the fall and being hit by the car, but I can handle it. I must. 

“What now?” Darlene asks when I get back to breathe at a normal pace. I swallow and put my hood up. 

“Now we get Tyrell.”

We stick to the plan.

* * *

“Goddamit Darlene! Have you got any idea of the favor you asked me for?! I had to do a surgery on fucking Christmas and spent here all night and all morning, checking over one of the most known faces of the entire country!” 

The vet guy yells to Darlene, sounding outraged. He has bloodstains on his shirt. 

“Jesus, chill out, dude… I didn’t ask you a favor. In fact, I’m paying you, dearly.”  
“You goddamn right that you’re paying me dearly…”

I leave them discussing behind my back while I walk toward the surgery room, feeling a vague sense of dread rising up in my guts. After what I have known last night, I really, really don’t want to confront Tyrell. It would have been way better not to know at all about what happened between us, staying oblivious. It would have spared me the shame, the awkwardness, the guilt. 

I slowly open the door, finding him laying down on a small bed. He has the same shirt as last night, but the light blue of the fabric is painted in dark red, almost black, dried blood. No necktie. His head is turned over the window in what looks like a pensive frown. 

He turns to me. Again. His face is unreadable. But I don’t know if it’s because of my gaps in the matter of human interaction. 

We stare at each other in silence. It’s awkward. I would prefer to dig a hole and crawl into it in order to escape from this situation. It would be still more pleasant than to face the man who I apparently had sex with, without remembering a thing about it. 

Then, he exhales my name.  
I can’t. I just fucking can’t. I got no time for this shit. 

I clench my jaw and put my hands in the pockets, trying to keep up a casual façade. 

“You good to walk? We have to go.” 

He wrinkles his nose and grimaces at my statement, as if he’s been caught by a slight sense of annoyance. I don’t care. I don’t have to. 

“Always throwing orders, Elliot…” he mumbles, venomous, while moving his feet on the floor with a pained grunt. I would like to debate that throwing orders is more his thing, but I really don’t want to give him any chance to start a fight, or even a conversation. We’ll do what is needed to be done, nothing less, nothing more. 

Tyrell gets in a standing position, but he soon loses balance and falls seated on the bed. I don’t react, I don’t know how to. Maybe I should help him, he got shot and he’s hurt, I should offer him my support, but that would mean touching him, getting in a small distance from him and, honestly, it’s the last thing I want now. 

So, I just wait for him to get on his feet again, and watch him slowly stagger toward me, a hand pressed on the bandaged wound and a pained grimace on his face. 

Shit. He must join the Deus Group convention and the meeting with Price tonight, I have no idea how he’ll be able to do it. He doesn’t look good, he has heavy bags under his eyes and an expression contorted due to the physical pain. I try not to analyze too much how this makes me feel. It’s not healthy. 

“You ok?” I inquire, casually. He lets out something akin to scoff in response. “I’m great, Elliot, can’t you see?” he retorts, sour. I decide to give him a taste of his own medicine. 

“Yeah, I know how being shot feels like.”

It works, because Tyrell’s face shifts into something like bitterness and guilt. 

“Let’s go.” I just say, not leaving him the time to add anything else.

* * *

“We should get a cab.” Darlene proposes, outside the vet’s clinic. I shoot her an inquisitive glance. She sighs, her eyes hidden behind the trademark heart-shaped sunglasses. “Dude… Maybe parking a stolen car to Angela’s place is not the brightest idea, you know?”

She’s right. The stolen car. How did I forget? I guess I’m really distracted today. 

Tyrell is standing next to us, dressed sharply in the dusky black coat, a hand pressing on his belly under the thick layer of the fabric. 

“Why am I going with you?” he asks, voice hoarse and eyes in a deep frown. “We need to discuss the plan.” I cut him off, hoping that this answer won’t leave space for any other question. Surprisingly, it works: Tyrell goes silent. Maybe he’s just too tired to complain. 

The scene in the cab is as much awkward. I sit in the center, Darlene is casually looking outside the window on my left while, on my right, Tyrell’s gaze is pointed ahead at nothing in particular, lost. It has been incredibly silent, after all, getting back to him. I’m almost glad. I just hope it will continue like this, making it less difficult. 

Tyrell’s face appears on the screen in the back of the seats, showing his figure intent on communicating E Corp’s best wishes for Christmas. 

Darlene scoffs at that. 

“Dude… you look like Patrick Bateman from Santa’s village.” 

I guess it should be funny. I don’t know, I stay motionless, looking at my sweaty hands. Tyrell shoots her a dirty glare, clearly offended. Looks like the taxi-driver has heard her, because he instantly gets all excited. 

“Tyrell Wellick?! In my cab?! Oh my… I can’t believe it! Can I get a selfie?” he exclaims from the driver’s seat. Tyrell raises a hand. “No, sir, you have me mistaken for someone else.” He says, with an attempted firm voice. 

“Are you sure you’re not Wellick?! You’re the dead spit of him!” 

He pinches the bridge of his nose in stress at that. It must be a common recurrence. Well, that’s what he wanted, I guess. To be adored by everyone. Or maybe what he had wanted? 

“I’m sure.” he spats. 

“Oh…” the driver rubs his chin, pensive. “But… are you an actor? No, wait a minute. Don’t say it: you were on Big Brother, weren’t you?!”  
Tyrell groans aloud under the snarky look of Darlene.

* * *

Darlene leaves us alone at Angela’s place. In the very beginning it’s ok, because Tyrell goes to take a shower, or clean himself, don’t know and don’t care, I’m just glad to be left pleasantly alone. There’s no trace of Mr. Robot, maybe he’s hiding. Perhaps he understood how he crossed the fucking line with that Tyrell’s affair. 

I don’t check on him while he’s in the bathroom. I know that, in his condition, he could easily pass out on the floor, but the last thing that I want now is to interact in any possible way with him, especially in a circumstance when he could be less dressed. 

I’m sitting at the table, working on my laptop when he enters the room, wearing a plain grey t-shirt and sweatpants that Darlene has given to him, probably former Ollie’s clothes that were abandoned in the depth of the closet. He stands on the threshold, looking wary at me. He seems… oddly younger like that, with casual clothes and his hair wet on his front. Less threatening. Wait, no, I have never found him threatening. 

He runs a hand in his hair and sighs. Then, he slowly takes the place in front of me at the table and points his elbow on the surface, entangling his fingers.

He stares. I stare back.  
…For what it seems like an eternity. 

He speaks after that embarrassing amount of time.

He tells exactly what I didn’t want to hear.

“Elliot. We should talk about this.”

I lower my gaze on the screen and start typing frantically. What else can I do? 

“There’s nothing to talk about. We’ll discuss the details of the plan when Darlene will get back.”

He slams a fist on the table, making me flinch instinctively at the unexpected gesture. Shit. Not good. I must not show him my weaknesses, he will exploit them.  
“I’m not talking about the fucking plan!”

I shrug. “We have nothing else to discuss.” 

I ignore him. Go on typing, eyes glued to the screen. Pretend he doesn’t exist. Maybe it will work, and he will disappear. I almost miss when he was just a creation of my mind, like Mr. Robot. 

Tyrell glares at me for at least a full minute. He’s pouting, even. Childishly. Then, he stands, dragging the chair with him on the floor, letting out a suppressed grunt due to the pain that the sudden movement must have caused him, and slam my computer closed with a loud ‘thud’. I can’t help but gasp in surprise and irritation at the annoying gesture.  
I glare daggers at him, and he does the same back. 

“I was ready to die. I was ready to accept my fate, but you, once again, turned the tables.” He hisses through his teeth, his frown with that spark of anger that is usual in him.  
“You’re delirious, man. I don’t know what are you talking about.” I shrug it off. Because, of course, I can just shrug it off. 

In the beginning, he scoffs. Then, he diverts his gaze and mumbles something nonaudible to himself in Swedish. 

What the fuck should I do to make him drop it? If only you could answer me, my friend. 

“Tell me again that you don’t care about me.” He snarls, then, pointing again his icy irises at me. “Tell me that you don’t need me.”

I stay silent. I don’t know what to say. If only I could switch him off, running away from that confrontation. 

He moves in front of me, and, for a moment, he almost looks ready to throw a punch. Maybe he’s gonna beat me. Wait a minute, he doesn’t have his gloves. Is he gonna punch me anyway? 

“Tell me.”

I open my mouth to say something, but I stop. This apparently gets him even more riled up. He grips the collar of my shirt, probably ignoring the pain that he must feel with that gesture, and clenches tight, moving until our faces are separated by a few inches, raising an absolute sense of dread into my guts at the sudden undesired proximity.

“TELL ME!” He yells, straight to my face, and his gaze is so intense that for a moment he has the power to scare me, to melt me, to leave me without defense, flayed and exposed.  
Darlene is the lifesaver. The variables are again in my favor, since she enters in that exact moment, holding a huge bag of fuming food, catching us with Tyrell leaned toward me, gripping the collar of my shirt, a few inches from my face. 

“Jeez! I can’t leave you two guys alone for a moment that you’re already doing your gay shits!” that must be a joke, but it doesn’t lighten up the atmosphere that much. Tyrell leaves my shirt and turns away, showing his back, sighing and running a hand to his face while I casually fix up the disheveled collar. 

“…Or maybe not.” She adds then, placing the bag on the table, perceiving the awkward vibes in the air. 

We don’t say anything in response, but I guess she’s used to the silent treatment. Well, by me, of course. 

“I got Chinese.” She says, pulling off the boxes from the bag and placing them on the table. Tyrell gains back some composure and turns toward us, face blank and emotionless. Darlene shoots a snarky look at him. “I don’t know if you’re used eating caviar and lobster at every meal, but today you’ll have to mix up with the low-class customs, Wellick.” 

Tyrell sits and makes what looks like a forced smile. “Chinese is ok, Darlene.” He talks flat voice, polite and formal. “…And, by the way, I hate caviar.” He adds after a while.  
“Woa! Now I get why you invited yourself into FSociety. You’re one of us.” She mocks him, gaining the usual icy glare in response.

* * *

Luckily, lunch goes well.  
We discuss the plan, all the time. It goes smooth and clear. Tyrell questions around and listens to Darlene’s explanation with a concentrated frown while I eat in silence. The guy knows his shit, he had already proven that in the past. 

It’s strange, because suddenly I think how we three have never worked together. Tyrell forced himself into Fsociety, but never collaborated with Darlene. For a moment, I find myself stupidly thinking how we three could make a great team, but then I remember that I don’t like Tyrell and I internally scold myself to have thought about something that stupid. 

Us, sitting and discussing hacking, makes me forget for a moment the reasons why I didn’t want to interact with Tyrell at all. The fact that Mr. Robot slept with him behind my back. 

Tyrell didn’t forget about it too, did he? That’s why he wants to talk. To talk about his feelings and that kind of shit. I really, really hope the moment of the speech will never come. I wish he could just drop it, ignore and stop overthinking. Pretend it never happened.

After tonight, our routes will diverge forever. I’ll never need him again. I just need to hold on a little. 

Shit, what am I saying? Of course he will go after me. Of course he won’t leave me alone until we’ll have sort things out. But there’s nothing to sort out. Just me, being a psycho with an evil alter ego who apparently fucked him. 

Does he know? Did he understand that was Mr. Robot, not me? We’re very different. I guess he doesn’t shift us in his head, after all.  
Why am I thinking about this? It doesn’t matter. At all. 

Shit. I’m spacing out. Darlene has just asked me something and now she is squinting at me while Tyrell is staring with a pensive frown. Fuck. What do they expect me to say? I gasp, dumbly, browsing for words in my mind, and Darlene sighs in surrender, clearly understanding that I wasn’t paying attention to her.  
“Elliot…” she starts, but the doorbell rings, interrupting her and gaining our wary attention.

“Saved by the bell.” She declares, placing her palms on the table and snapping on her feet. The moment she leaves just me and Tyrell sitting alone in the room is the moment when I start to melt on the chair again. I avoid his gaze, but I perceive that he’s about to talk. Luckily, he’s stopped by Darlene herself precipitating back to us, looking suddenly frantic.

It must not be anything good. 

She grips my arm and then Tyrell’s and starts to pull us rudely. 

“You have to hide!” 

Tyrell lets out a pained lament under that treatment, while I frown in anguish and confusion.  
“What is it?” 

She doesn’t respond, just continues to drag us to Angela’s room, throwing us over the threshold.  
“Stay here, and not a word. I can handle this.” After this poor explanation, she slams the door shut, leaving us alone. I gasp in shock and share an inquisitive glance with Tyrell, who seems equally distressed. At least, we don’t have to talk. 

We lean to the door, trying to decipher what is going on outside. But soon I can hear the sound of steps and I instinctively grab Tyrell’s t-shirt to drag him back from the door, in order to avoid an unpleasant slam on his nose. I can see the glimpse of his confused look, then, we both turn to the door, eyes wide.

There’s a red-haired woman on the threshold, glaring at us from up to bottom with her arm crossed on her chest.  
“You got to be fucking kidding me.” She spats.

* * *

Here we are, again. Sitting at the table, trying to study how to get out of this.  
Dom is walking in circles, nervously. 

“You don’t understand, Darlene! They have my family. All of them.” She exhales, running her hands in the hair. Darlene sighs and takes a drag from her cigarette. “I know, and I’m telling you that we can handle this. After tonight, the Dark Army won’t be a threat for anyone anymore.”

The FBI agent doesn’t seem slightly convinced. Shit. This is no good. Why there must be always complications?! 

She points at me. “They want Elliot. Give me a good reason why should I help you.” Tyrell, unexpectedly, takes words. He raises his hand in surrender and speaks with a soft tone, looking all peachy and collected. 

“Ma’am, I’m sure that we can all agree to some sort of deal here. No need to bother the Dark Army.”

Dom scoffs at him. “Don’t go all _ma’am_ on me, Tyrell Wellick. This shit ain’t gonna work.” He clenches his jaw in response, looking almost offended. For some strange reason, one corner of my mouth curls up in a tiny trace of a faint smile at the scene, just in an uncontrolled reflex. Luckily, nobody notices it. I almost didn’t notice it.

“Dom, I’m serious…” Darlene pleads. “…We can handle this. Together, we will destroy Whiterose.”

The woman spends a large amount of time staring at us, scanning our figures. Yeah, I guess we must look like an odd trio, quartet, if you count Mr. Robot but she doesn’t need to know about him. 

She sighs in surrender after a while. “…Fine. Jesus, I don’t even know why I’m trusting you. You guys are nuts.” Darlene slams her hand on the table and exults, while a tiny, satisfied smirk appears on Tyrell’s face. I smile too, again, it is just an uncontrolled reflex. There is just a moment, a fraction of a second, when we are both smiling and our eyes connect. But I recognize what I’m doing and instantly divert my gaze. 

“Ok.” I clear my voice and talk to Dom. “You’ll take care of Janice with my sister. And, uhm, Tyrell-” he makes an interested twitch, looking at me like a curious bird. Curious bird?! Shit. Where did it come from? Anyway… “You just… I don’t know man, sleep it off. You got to be in shape for tonight.” 

“What are you going to do?” he snaps instantly. 

I shrug. “I got shit to do.” None of his business. I cut him off before he can make any other attempt to interrogate me more. “…Alone.” 

He seems to surrender at that, clenching his mouth shut.  
An awkward silence follows, broken by Darlene after a few seconds. 

“Alright! Chop, chop, everyone. You heard the boss, we got work to do!” she exclaims with her acute, almost squeaky voice.  
“…I’m not a boss.” I feel the need to correct her. 

“But you are our leader, our guidance, Elliot. You earned it. Whatever you like it or not.” Tyrell speaks with his mellifluous voice, with a lazy smirk plastered on his face. I swallow and turn my face to avoid his look, because somehow shit like that makes me nervous as hell.

* * *

I try to think that I don’t care when I hastily go out to Olivia’s home. I try to think that desperate times require desperate measures. It was all about the greatest cause, above us. The big picture. But Mr. Robot is right. I used her, and I did it in the most humiliating and infamous way: through sex, exploiting her feelings. 

I must not get stuck in those thoughts now, I must not fuck everything up due to my own sense of guilt. 

But, again, Mr. Robot is right. I’m not a good person. I did the same to Tyrell, and even if I keep repeating to myself that there’s nothing to feel bad about, I know that I used him, I exploited his feelings to manipulate him. No, Mr. Robot did, not me. 

Here’s the sick part of all of it; I did like being with Olivia. It was nice, sincerely nice. There was something else, and I know it. But what if it’s the same with Tyrell? What if there was something else with him too? 

Just the wicked idea makes my stomach twitch. Mr. Robot told me that we find him attractive. Attractive. That’s stupid, ok, but also comprehensible. I can accept the idea of being sexually attracted by him, he’s rather good-looking, I don’t think it myself, I mean, I’m just reporting common knowledge. All the gossip magazines and so on. 

I’m ok with that. I’m human and, I guess, young. I got physical needs. What I cannot accept is the fluttering sensation in my stomach that I felt when he smiled at me at Angela’s place, when Dom has accepted to collaborate for our cause. Or when I have found myself thinking how great we would be as a team. 

This is making me freak out, accepting my remote, unconscious ideas. I have found myself in the past thinking about him as a friend, maybe in another world, in other circumstances. I imagined sitting at the same table with him in a different, parallel universe. When we first met, he got my attention. In the sea of endless, boring, banal people of that office, he was totally out of tune. Like a bug in the system. 

He creeped me out. But at the same time… he got me curious, because I felt the instant need to know him, to understand him, to make his unexplainable person explainable. Perhaps Mr. Robot is right, perhaps it was… attraction, that I didn’t even know I had toward him. 

He told me he had felt something the first time we met. Like fate. 

That room was full of people and I was just a tech, one between many… why did he notice me? What was so special about me, to make him stop, losing the other Evil Corp bosses?  
Maybe I thought we had something in common, even if we looked like the exact same opposite. But now that I know him better, I can say that we have, things in common. We’re both socially not suitable to the world, both outsiders. We’re both alone. 

Maybe there was a hidden part of me who wanted to become his friend. Maybe… there still is. But things have gone shit, have gone rotten, corrupted, as every fucking usual.  
And it’s too late. We could never be friends. I could never fix this. 

Olivia is right, I’m a terrible human being. What I want to do is to save the world, help people, but what I do is to destroy everything and fuck everything up.  
But I can’t stop now. Not until Whiterose is defeated, not until we’ll accomplish our mission. My mind is on the edge, I feel like I’m just postponing the inevitable moment when I’ll break again. 

I just need to hold on a little longer. Resist. 

But this time the variables choose to work against me, because, while I’m walking and thinking this, my friend, someone suddenly grabs me and throws me in the trunk of a car, under my useless protests. 

And I know from the beginning that this is not Dark Army’s work. Because I recognize the style, and I cannot avoid thinking about Shayla, when I’m here, trapped in this tight, enclosed dark space. 

There’s only a person who could be behind this.

* * *

I just needed to hold on. To resist, to grasp to a state of forced sanity. But Vera made it, in the end, he broke me. 

He left me in thousands of pieces. The pain is unbearable, suffocating, but incredibly sensible. Because suddenly, everything makes sense. A lot of sense. 

In all my life I felt like there was something wrong in me, something sick and beyond reparation. I watched and hacked normal people doing normal stuff as exotic animals. I watched and blamed society, hating every part of it, but melting in my own envy while doing so. Because I wasn’t like them. I could never be like them. 

And I wished I was. I wished I was an average tech of a great company. Someone who plays his records and drinks his coffee in the morning while walking work then does bbq with his friends on the weekend. Spend the salary on trips and Amazon products, getting married, have kids, a big screen and a fancy car. A normal person with a normal life.

I always thought that I could never have that, and now I know why. Now I know the origin of all of it. 

I’m broken, permanently. It could never be otherwise. There’s nothing left to be fixed. 

I’ve made a decision. I can’t deal with this anymore. When it will be over, Price, Whiterose, the Deus Group, I will delete myself. And I’ll do it for real. I just need to finish what I’ve started, then I’ll go. 

I’m sorry, my friend, if this causes pain in you. But you don’t even exist. As Mr. Robot. 

But what exists is what happened to me, and this can’t be canceled. Not anymore, not now that I’m finally aware, finally awakened. 

I’m sitting at the computer in the former Allsafe building, now abandoned, crying out everything under the apprehensive gaze of Mr. Robot, when I hear the sound of steps. Again, it’s like the variables can’t leave me alone, give me some peace. No, they need to add shit to the already existent ton of it. I’m far from being able to interact with any human person, but maybe Mr. Robot can help me and take my place. 

I turn in order to give my back to the person who is entering the big, dusty room. You understood who he is, don’t you? Of course it’s him. Because things aren’t already fucked up enough. 

I try to recollect my breathing, my composure. I can’t let him see me cry. It will be exploitable. So, I speak without facing him. 

“How the fuck did you find me?”

I see just a glimpse of his figure. He’s walking toward me, slowly, with his hands in the pockets of his black coat. 

“Darlene told me you were here.” 

I scoff. Mr. Robot speaks for me. “That’s a shitty lie, my friend.”

He stays silent for a few seconds, now frozen on his spot, meters from me. It’s good, I hope he won’t approach more. Keep a safe distance.  
“Alright.” He sighs, defeated. “…I may have tracked your phone.”

A part of me would consider his hacking impressive, since I’m very careful about not be traceable. But now, it’s just overly annoying. Luckily, Mr. Robot speaks again in my place.  
He turns toward him, but just slightly, keeping our face hidden from his prying eyes. 

“You must stop to force yourself in. That’s not how it works.” 

I hear Tyrell grunting at these words, behind my back. 

“Seriously?!” he scoffs. “You’re fucking impossible, you know that?!” 

He’s angry, maybe his anger is even partially reasonable. I don’t know, what I do know is that if this morning I was thinking that confront him was the last thing I could ever do at that moment, now the possibility sounds like pure hell for me. I can’t, I just can’t deal with this shit. 

He takes a few steps forward. I’m still giving him my back. I hide. It’s the only thing I can do. 

“YOU started this, this-” he trails off, uncertain. “Whatever this is! I fucking tried to get rid of you, but you didn’t let me!” Shit. What the fuck is he talking about? I wonder what happened with Mr. Robot. No, perhaps is better not to know. 

“Then you disappeared again, you treated me like shit, said that you don’t care about me, that you never needed me… and you… you…” with the corner of my eye, I see him sighing and covering his face with his hands. “…you didn’t even let me die!”

Let him die. Is that what he wanted?

His voice comes out cracked next, like he’s trying to hold back the imminent cry. Well, that’s something we have in common, I guess, since I’m doing the same from the exact same moment he entered the room.

“Did you ever consider the idea that perhaps, that was what I wanted? My wife is dead, my son is in foster care, you don’t give a shit about me and all I have is a ton of money surrounded by plastic people and a plastic life!” 

Then, it hits me like a dart. The memory. What he said in the woods, about leaving all behind, the pain, the stress… he was trying to tell me. I didn’t get it.  
If it’s possible, I feel even worse. My throat becomes tight while I lack oxygen. He’s approaching me, going nearer and nearer. I can’t do this. I can’t.

He lets out a bitter cackle. “I get it! Now I fucking get it!” his voice now sounds almost hysterical. 

“What? What do you get?” I ask, keeping a low profile. 

He burst into a mad laugh. “I get it! Of course… how could I not realize…” “Realize WHAT-” I snap out. He’s behind my back now, he’s close. He laughs again and I must suppress the urge to punch him. 

Now I scream. I’m on edge, he’s pushing me. I can’t help it. 

“REALIZE WHAT-”

“THAT THIS IS ALL A FUCKING MIND GAME OF YOURS!”

Shit. Mind games. This is definitely Mr. Robot’s style. I glare at him with the corner of my eye, he’s standing in front of me, surprisingly quiet. He has left me dealing with this ton of shit. He has an expression akin to apologetic, and that’s gold. 

I catch a glimpse of Tyrell raising a finger and shaking his head. “You couldn’t stand the idea that I was choosing something on my own, didn’t you? This is why you did it. You… saved me.” He pronounces the last two words in mockery and spite while a chill runs to my spine. I’m starting to feel sick. 

“Granted. Because you have to control me, to have the complete power over me. Choosing in my place all the fucking time. You said I was part of a collection of puppets of the Dark Army, but the truth is that you made me YOUR puppet!” 

Finally, Robot speaks. His voice is sour and heavy. 

“Wasn’t it what you wanted? Isn’t it why you gave me your power, sweetheart?”

The sickness is rising, as the constriction in my throat. No, Mr. Robot is not fucking helping, he’s making it worse. I’m about to beg him to stop. I can’t go on like this. 

I’m sure he knows. I’m sure he knows how he’s making me feel like shit, but he decides to ignore me and going on talking through me, non-caring about my wellbeing. It’s not the first time he hurts me, isn’t it? Just one more above the many. 

“To have someone who chooses for you… who controls you. It’s easier this way, just letting it go. I just did what you believed was in your best interest, face it.”  
Is he talking about Tyrell or me? No. No no non no no no. This isn’t right. Stop it. 

“WELL THEN I DON’T FUCKING NEED YOU TO CONTROL ME ANYMORE!”

Stop it, please. Do something, my friend. 

I bring my hands into my ears and curl down until my chin is on my knees. I hope I could just shut them for real. Freeze everything. 

“FUCKING LOOK AT ME WHEN I SPEAK-”

Something hooks my shoulder and forces me to twirl on the chair. Now Tyrell is in front of me, and I’m defenseless, he’s yelling, but he’s not, he has stopped at the exact moment he has seen my face. 

And I can’t hold back, the pain, the tears. I see his expression shifts from all the shades of anger to astonished confusion, and for a moment he just gasps, out of words, staring wide-eyed at my pathetic, sobbing figure. 

“Elliot…” he breathes out, shocked. My hands are gripping my hair, and my voice comes out hoarse while my mouth feels suddenly dried.  
“Please… stop.”

I hate myself for sounding this low. But I can’t help it. I lost control, I tried, I fucking tried, I swear. But here I am. A sobbing mess in front of him.  
I can’t lift my eyes on him. I can’t afford to look at him.

He reaches a hand toward my face by I instantly snap back, suddenly caught by a wave of pure panic. My mind is running fast and can let out barely comprehensible sentences. Kernel panic. Here I go again. 

“Don’t touch me, don’t touch me, don’t-” now I’m squirming, fighting, even, but against nobody, since he’s not really trying to touch me. He’s interdicted. 

Despite what I am saying, I feel a foreign sensation of my shoulder of a hand gently squeezing it. I look at the hand, moving my sight on the arm until I reach Mr. Robot’s worried gaze. Somehow, I stop screaming. 

“It’s alright, kiddo. Just let it go.”

I blink, dumbfounded, and turn my head to Tyrell, finally looking at him properly since the first moment he intrudes here. He’s kneeling in front of me with a heavy, worried frown on his face. It almost looks like the type of expression you might expect from a friend. 

“This is not about this quarrel… isn’t it?” he inquires, carefully, keeping himself at the right distance from me, for once in his life. 

My response is just a strangled cry and I almost feel how he gets worked up at that, how he wants to reach me and touch me and how he’s working on self-restraint to not doing it. 

“Elliot… what happened?”

I shake my head. “I can’t do this.” 

It’s like he’s almost crying too, just for an empathetic reflex. “Can’t do… what?” no answer. He bites his lip. “Elliot, you can talk to me.” His voice is surprisingly soft even if full of awe, and for a moment I find myself thinking that maybe it’s how the voice of a friend sounds. Or maybe I’m just saying batshit to myself, seeing things where they don’t exist because I’m desperate. And lonely.

Sorry friend, but I really need a friend, a real one. 

He leans forward but keeps avoiding touching me, which I appreciate. 

“I know things have been a mess between us… but I really care about you. I can’t stand seeing you like this, it hurts me, Elliot… so please, talk to me.”  
A sob. A hiccup.

He sighs and diverts his gaze, but just for a moment. 

“Elliot, I’m on your side. I’ll always be, no matter what. Because I… I love you.” His tone of voice is strangely calm, strangely collected, despite the heavy words he’s saying. It doesn’t make any sense. 

I sniffle, for some strange reason, I have started to cry less hard. 

“You don’t even know me.”

He smiles. That fucking smile. Sad and sweet, so out of character. How can a bad man like him have a smile like that? Shit. I feel like I had already had this thought, somewhere in the past. It’s some sort of dejà vu. 

“I don’t need to.” And he sounds damn sure about that. “I mean… I’d like to. But I already told you, I believe in fate, there’s a reason we met.”

Tyrell is delusional, as usual. It must be. The guy is freaking nutcase, but I sure shouldn’t be the one to talk, after all. Fate. This morning I was thinking about the first time we met at Allsafe, how he stopped at my place without any apparent reason. It’s funny. If fate exists, then mine is a destiny of dread from which I cannot escape. I’m cursed, my father cursed me. He ruined me and left me like this, living a life with my mind shattered into pieces. 

“The first time I saw you…” Tyrell resumes, now sounding oddly nervous. “…I felt something. I cannot explain. There’s a power in you, a light, I… I saw it.” his face is close to mine now. I have stopped crying; all I can do is to stare at him with wide eyes and my mouth parted. 

“I saw that light.”

His eyes are tearing me apart, slicing me open. 

“And I got dazzled. It was… beautiful.”

There’s a tear that is running on my cheek. 

“…And I just wish I could give you my eyes, to make you see yourself as the way I do.” 

…Fuck.

For a moment, there’s just silence. Then, I fall, graceless, on my knees, making the office chair moving back.  
I don’t know next. Maybe it’s Mr. Robot. I could blame him. 

Because I move without control, my arms raise and throw themself on Tyrell’s shoulder, on their own will. My head leans on the crook of his neck, on its own will. I’m hugging him. I must have gone totally crazy. He’s hugging me back, his hands are drawing circles on my back, his nose is on my ear, I can hear him breathing, it’s almost a tickling sensation.  
The most insane part is that I’m liking it. Enjoy, even. Can I blame Mr. Robot for this? I don’t know. He’s standing right here, in front of me. He’s smiling, but there’s almost a sad note on his face. I can’t quite place it. My mind is still a mess even if I stopped crying. 

We part, and his hands move on my shoulder. I’m afraid that he might kiss me. I’m afraid of how I would react. But he doesn’t do that, he doesn’t force himself in. 

He’s smiling, his eyes are half-lidded, almost drowsy. Would he do that? Would he give me his eyes, if I asked him to? Maybe I fear the answer. 

I move my gaze to the floor. All of a sudden, I feel totally self-conscious. What the fuck should I do now? Thank him for the kind words? Telling him that I’m sorry I’ve treated him like shit? Perhaps all of that, but my mouth feels dry, and the words are left unsaid on my tongue. 

I swallow. “We should get back to work.” I know that’s the stupidest thing to say, but I don’t have anything better. 

He nods and rubs his thumbs on my shoulders, a gesture that has become oddly familiar so far. 

Strangely, I don’t mind the touch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... dark themes, because this show is veeery dark. I think Elliot is one of the most struggling characters that I have ever seen. 
> 
> Feel free to share your feelings, comments and kudos are super appreciated.


	4. Glitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Looks like madness is another family trait in the Aldernsons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally Tyrell's POV :)

Tyrell can’t avoid wondering what Joanna would have said while driving toward the location of the Deus Group convention. To be invited in the circle of the most influential men and women in the world would have made her proud, that’s for sure. 

He can almost hear her saying. 

“Tyrell, I want you to keep your eyes open tonight. We must exploit every possibility we’ll find. It’s of primary importance that we transmit an image of unity and confidence in this kind of social occasion. Be sociable, but not invasive. Be polite, but not detached. Don’t drink too much champagne, you’ll inspire an image of unreliability.”

Yeah, that’s pretty much what she would have said. He can almost _feel_ her presence in that damn car, like a ghost from the past. But she’s not here, she can’t see and enjoy his progress, their progress. Because everything he did for her was necessary to them. 

Now, to be welcomed as a part of the Deus Group, to have reached the position of CEO just gives him a heavy sense of emptiness. Everything he fought for, every struggle every effort ended out being just bullshit. Was it worth it? He has reached the top losing anything else. What in the past he thought was his final goal is just emptiness now. A plastic, fake life. A life without Joanna. Without his son. 

He sometimes feels debated about her. There’s a part of him that drowns in a sense of guilt, sorrow. Because she has never agreed to Elliot’s cause, that has always been on him, all on him. It was all his choice, a questionable one, perhaps. No, maybe it wasn’t a choice. It was fate. Destiny. He was meant to join Elliot. 

Does he regret that? Sometimes. 

Does he still stupidly and out of sense still believe in Elliot? Without any trace of doubt. 

He reaches the parking lot of the hotel, and the man in the cab suppresses his prying curiosity in seeing him driving his car by himself. It’s not common to not have a driver in that kind of recurrence, and not a good point for his public image either, if someone will notice it. He’s not even presenting himself with someone as an escort, it’s a matter of public domain that he’s a widower, but still, to join an event like that alone could give the idea that he’s a mourning wreck, show a weakness. He strangely doesn’t care. It’s almost liberating. There are better things to think of. As usual, there is a bigger plan behind it all. A big picture. 

He parks, finding instantly a host of people finely dressed ready to escort him to the meeting. He fakes smiles, acts politely, puts his mask on. It’s not difficult, it comes out instinctive. Sometimes he doesn’t even recognize when he’s wearing that mask and when not. 

The interior of the hotel is luxurious as expected. Tyrell spends just a few seconds scanning the crowd gathered around: the most influential men and women in the world. Saudi sheiks are drinking next to Russian industrials, followed by Chinese politicians, European bankers, lord of the oil business, contractors, dictators, war kings. There are Elon Musk and Jeff Bezos drinking champagne and laughing at some joke just a few meters from him. Once upon a time, the possibility of being part of this would have made him thrilled. Excited, even. Now is just a blank, cold emptiness. Plastic life. Plastic people.

All puppets of a wicked act. 

He turns to reach a glass of champagne and talks in a low voice.

“Ok. I’m in.”

He can hear from the earphone in his ear the squeaky voice of Darlene. 

_I’m in?! Nobody talks like that. You’re a freak, Wellick._

He suppresses the urge to grunt while sending a smile at two businessmen that are passing by. Then, he takes a sip of his champagne and talks behind the glass. “And you’re lovely as usual, Darlene.” She groans on the other side of the line. 

“Jesus… look at this crowd of scumbags. All together in the same room. I’m about to throw up.”

She can see what surrounds Tyrell due to the micro camera they installed in the pocket of his jacket. He must admit: Elliot and his sister have devised a pretty clever plan. Soon, all these people are about to have revealed all their dirty little secrets. About to be destroyed, and Whiterose will fall with them. 

He starts to walk, casually, with a hand put in the pocket of his trousers, taking another sip of his champagne. “You haven’t seen anything.” He says, wary not to be noticed in talking ‘alone’. “All these people… you have no idea what money can buy. Think about the creepiest fantasy you can imagine, multiply it by one hundred.” 

She scoffs in response. “You talk like you’re not one of them.” 

Tyrell smirks to himself at that, Darlene can’t see him but is just a reflex. “Never said I wasn’t.” a pause, another sip. “…But I’m also one of you, apparently.” The girl on the other side of the line can’t replay anything back, he’s being intercepted by two Canadian businessmen who greets him with way excessive enthusiasm. 

“Mr. Wellick! Congratulations on your CEO promotion!” they shake hands. Social conventions. It’s a script, Tyrell knows it by heart.

“Thank you, gentlemen, but I’m afraid it’s not official yet.” For some strange reason, his fake smiles look even more pretended tonight. Like he has drained and consumed the quantity of bullshit he can act. 

One of them gives him a virile pat on the shoulder. “Oh, but is a matter of public domain. I’m sure you’ll make a great job, I have always been by the side of young CEOs. Fuck what they say, right? You don’t need white hair to know how to make it.”

Tyrell fakes a cackle and pats the man on the shoulder back. “Well, wait till next year to tell me!” 

They all three burst into a high-pitched laugh. It’s just a script. An act. Tyrell goes in auto-mode. 

_Jesus. Why don’t you just drop it to the part where you all get in a circle hand job?_

He represses the urge to grimace at Darlene’s banter. After some small talks, he’s finally able to get rid of them and resume his walk. His glass is empty, so he gains another one.  
_Ok, big fish. I think we can start what we’re here for, now._ Darlene announces, and he internally sighs in relief at that. He’s already getting tired of the situation.

* * *

The hack is a success. 

He leaves the hotel a small before hacking the gate and getting the most powerful people in the world stuck in the building like tiny little rats. 

They did it. What Tyrell leaves behind his back is a situation of absolute mess and terror. He wonders if Elliot will be proud of him. Sure as hell, he would have never thought to find himself collaborating with a person like Darlene. But, in the end, he must admit that the girl is smart, even if a little bit annoying. A huge grey matter must be a family trait in the Aldersons. 

He finds her on the side of the road, grinning smugly and dressed in that rather kitschy furry coat. She’s hollering, jumping, even. It’s a little bit awkward, but for some strange reason, Tyrell finds himself grinning back while pulling over the car. 

“Slow your roll there and get in the car, Darlene.” He tells her, lowering the car window. She trots to the car and enters totally out of grace. For a moment, Tyrell finds himself thinking how different from Elliot this girl is, if not the exact opposite. She’s loud, rude, overly extroverted and prying. They’re like the sun and the moon. 

“We did it!” she yells, as if it wasn’t obvious yet. Tyrell starts to drive towards an unknown destination. “Yeah, yeah. We did it.” his voice lacks the same excitement as Darlene’s but there’s a proud smirk on his face. 

Darlene isn’t over yet. 

“WE DID IT!” She grabs and pulls Tyrell’s arm, causing the instant laments in him. “Helvete Darlene! Get a grip!” but she totally ignores him and continues to talk, turning her head toward the front window. 

“Damn, that was cool! Did you see how terrified they were? The protesters? The mess?” 

“Yeah, I saw it. I was there, you know.”

…But she’s not even listening to him. She yells again and Tyrell brings instinctively a hand to the ear due to the squeakiness of her voice. Damn! This girl is totally insane. It’s like she has been raised in a barn with pigs and goats. And that’s pretty mad because _he_ is the one that grew up on a farm but he, at least, knows some damn manners.  
Darlene burst into a laugh. Then, after an insane amount of time spent just in gaining back some demeanor, she wipes a tear and sends a malicious smirk to Tyrell, still intent on driving, eyes pointed on the road. 

“You know…” her voice trails off, she’s hesitant, or browsing for something in her mind. “…I may think that you’re not completely bad after tonight. Like, half-bad.” 

Tyrell scoffs at that. “Thank you so much, Darlene. I really needed your approval.” 

“Elliot says that you’re always looking for approval in the other people.”

Wait. What the fuck?! Elliot what?!

He shoots her a glare between shocked and outraged. “Elliot? Why the fuck did he say that to you?!” 

She laughs again. Tyrell feels a vague sense of nervousness boiling up, getting him on edge.

“Reelax, dude! I’m joking. Elliot doesn’t say shit to me. I was fishing. You didn’t deny, though.” 

Fuck. Tyrell really, really hopes she can’t see the vague red tint that has started to color his cheeks. Damn pallor. 

“I would like you not to psychoanalyze me, thank you.” He says, faking politeness, pretending a poker face as the best as he can. She giggles, leaning totally comfortable on the seat, stretching her long legs as the best as she can while fumbling in her shabby purple backpack. Tyrell vaguely scrutinizes her with the corner of his eye, alert. What the hell is she doing now? But what comes next is out of his previsions, because the girl is now lighting a cigarette, totally undisturbed. 

A fucking cigarette. In his fucking car. He can’t stand it. With a quick, sharp gesture, he snatches the cigarette out of her hand and throws it outside the lowered window.  
“Fucking hell! Has anybody ever taught you how not to be a fucking savage?!” he hisses through his teeth, not caring anymore to maintain some kind of composure. She groans, predictably. The fucking nerve of her. 

“Dude, chill out, ok? This is why you have anger issues.”

…she really doesn’t know when to stop. 

“I – WHAT?!” 

“Because you’re faking it! Faking the composure, the façade, but your brain is imploding. That energy, that anger, needs to flow out somewhere. You’re neurotic, dude, that’s your problem.”

And this is definitely enough. 

Tyrell pulls over and clenches the grip on the steering wheel, gritting his teeth. He had politely asked her to not psychoanalyze him, didn’t he? He has been patient, he had put all his efforts into bearing this insolent, rude girl just because of Elliot but too much is too much. 

He turns to her, ready to burst, ready to explode. He feels the blood boiling hot in his vein, that spark that rises and makes the sight going red. Makes him lose his mind.  
But when he sees her, something makes his mood shift. She’s smiling. Not smirking; smiling, and extending her pack of the cigarette toward him. Open. An invitation. 

What the actual fuck?

Looks like madness is another family trait in the Aldersons. 

“Do you want one?”

He blinks and gasps, because, fuck, it doesn’t make any sense. She reaches her hand toward him, insistent. “Do you want one?” she repeats, voice firmer, this time. 

Is it a fucking Dark Army’s mind game? It feels like one. For some impossible strange reason, Tyrell finds himself exhaling a long, tired breath and accepting the offer. He doesn’t even know why. He moves just in a reflex. 

They smoke in silence for a while in the car, looking ahead of them at nothing in particular, the cars roaming in the street, the streetlights of NY night. 

It’s strange. Tyrell remembers how he used to smoke during college. Joanna had made him quit. She said that smoking doesn’t inspire confidence. What a trivial thought to have now. 

“We should check on Elliot.” Darlene proposes, after a while. 

“Uhm, yeah, right.” And it’s almost pathetically sheepish the voice that comes out from Tyrell. 

The girl puts on the speakerphone and soon after Elliot’s voice is audible. 

“Hello.”

Tyrell gulps. He suddenly feels nervous, self-conscious. The last time he had seen Elliot, just a couple of hours before, he had found him as a crying mess. He had never, never seen him like this before, and just the memory makes his chest feels tight. 

Thing is, Elliot is unpredictable. Impossible to understand. He changes to a completely different person from time to time, and all his actions seem to converge into self-sabotage. There is nothing, nothing that makes sense in him. Perhaps this is why Tyrell loves him so much, the boy is a living enigma who leaves him out of moves. 

“Everything’s crystal clear.” Darlene announces, with a wide grin plastered on her face. Elliot uses some seconds to respond. “Ok. Good.” Eloquent as usual.

Tyrell is waiting for him to speak again, for a command, for something, but that something never arrives. 

“So…” and he hates himself for sounding so insecure, so fragile. “Should I join the meeting with Whiterose…?” 

This time, the answer arrives fast. And it stings. 

“No need to. Price is dead. Cops are coming to Whiterose’s place. It’s over.” 

“Price is dead?! Fuck…” but Tyrell can’t go on. Elliot has already hung up. Without adding anything. Without saying ‘hi’. 

He stares dumbfounded at Darlene who simply shrugs. “Welcome to the fucking club, dude! Flash news: he’s an asshole!” 

Yeah, it’s pretty much common knowledge. It shouldn’t hurt that much. But it does. Especially after their confrontation at Allsafe, especially after they hugged, after he had cried on his shoulder, after Tyrell had told him his love for another time. Why does Elliot do that? He had shown him his heart, sliced his chest open for him, putting aside the pride, the anger, and this is how he repays him?!

It’s impossible to deal with him, Tyrell feels like drowning in a sea of constant contradictions. A step forward, three steps back. Elliot leaves him completely shattered, destroyed.  
“I don’t even know why you like him that much…” Darlene mumbles then, casually looking over the window. 

Tyrell sighs and runs a hand in the hair. Needs to hold back the tears, the pain, the bitterness, the betrayal. How many times does Elliot need to treat him like shit before he learns the lesson? Another one, apparently. 

“I don’t.” he states, gravely. Darlene scoffs at that. “Yeah, no shit.”

Tyrell decides to make the topic drop. The last thing he wants is to have this type of conversation with Elliot’s sister, showing her how pathetic he is. How low he has crawled for Elliot. How he has reached the bottom and started to scratch.

He starts the engine and drives, his jaw clenched, and brows furrowed in a frown. 

“Where do I drop you?” 

It’s a simple question, but apparently is enough to get Darlene caught off. 

“Uh?”

Tyrell sighs and runs a hand to his face. God, he’s tired. This is girl is tiring. 

“Where do I drop you?” 

Darlene blinks in silence. Looking almost dumb. Perhaps she wasn’t expecting a lift. She answers after an embarrassing amount of time, almost in a sheepish voice, so out of character. “Oh, uhm… the hospital.” Tyrell shoots her an inquisitive glance. “You ok?” he asks, however not particularly interested in her wellbeing. She’s too goddamn loud to be hurt, by the way. 

“Yeah… I’m ok. Yeah.”

And looks like a normal conversation is what can put in trouble her too, because she sounds nervous, as if she doesn’t know how to act properly.

“Which one?” Tyrell’s voice, instead, is flat and cold. Practical. 

“…Just a hospital.” 

The fuck? What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Is she messing with him now?  
He pinches the bridge of his nose, striving in keeping up the patience. 

“Which. One.” 

She snaps at that, suddenly all riled up. “Jesus! Drop me just to a fucking hospital! Doesn’t matter which. I’m not… it’s not for me. I need to meet someone.”

Tyrell’s mind goes back to that FBI agent, the redhead. There’s an irrational intuition that tells him that maybe that woman is the person Darlene needs to see. And he trusts implicitly in his insights. 

“And you don’t know in which hospital this person is?” his voice comes out mocking, even if it wasn’t intentional. Maybe he just can’t hold back the spite. 

The effect is to piss Darlene off. She grunts and throws her arms in the air. “Look, dude, I never fucking asked you anything, so if you don’t it want just…”

She can’t continue her complaints, because Tyrell pulls over the car and interrupts her. 

“We’re here.” 

“…Oh.”

Again, she looks caught off guard, shy, even. 

“Ok, I guess.” 

Tyrell shifts on the seat, stretching his legs. Then, he turns the car off, under the started look of Darlene.

“Call me if you find her. I’ll be waiting here.”

At these words, she opens her mouth to say something and stops, gasping like a fish. Tyrell squints at her. He really can’t get her. Why is she acting that strange? She should at least show some goddamn gratitude, he’s just trying to be helpful, since Elliot doesn’t need him, he’s out of tasks for the night. And the last thing he wants to do now is getting back to his empty house, drinking all the pain while trying not to think about how fucked up his life is, so. This is it. 

Darlene stares at him wide-eyed, uncertain. After some time spent just in reasoning, she snaps, out of nowhere.

“Is this a sick game of yours?!”

It’s Tyrell’s turn to gasp like a fish. Now they’re doing pretty much the competition in dumb awkwardness. 

“Wait… what?!” he just mumbles. She scoffs and crosses her arms on the chest while scrutinizing him with a snarky look. “Is it, isn’t it? You’re plotting something. What are you trying to get? What’s the point of this?!”

Fuck. Perhaps she’s right. He has always acted due to obtaining something, he has never done anything without a reason. But this time, the reason why he’s helping her it’s truly just because he doesn’t want to go home. He can’t tell her. That’s way too low and pathetic. 

“Fuckin hell!” Tyrell snarls, slamming a palm to the steering wheel, making Darlene flinch at the gesture. He sighs and rubs his indexes on his temples, trying to recollect some demeanor. 

He’s able to speak with a quite acceptable, calm voice after that. “I’m not trying to get anything, ok? I just… fuck!” …Or maybe not. He slams again the steering wheel in auto-mode, gripped by the nerve. Another sigh, a breath, in and out. Then, he turns to face her, and he really hopes he’s being able to disguise his emotions, how upset and riled up he truly is. 

“Listen, Darlene… just accept it, ok? My help.”

She shoots him a perplexed glance. She’s looking for the hoax, the lie behind it all. But maybe she gets convinced in the end. Or perhaps she understands that to accept Tyrell’s help is in her best interest. 

“Ok.” it’s all she says before going out of the car.

“Darlene!”

When Tyrell calls her name, she stops, takes a few steps back, and leans on the window of the car’s door. 

“…Be a lamb and give me another cigarette.” There’s a new tone of boldness in Tyrell’s voice. Darlene first reacts in groaning and faking annoyance, but then, there’s a smirk on her face when she reaches the cigarette out over the window.

* * *

Two hours pass. 

Incredibly and without any expectations, they fall into some sort of routine. He drives to the next hospital, she gives him a cigarette, and then she’s back after five minutes.  
Tyrell isn’t happy with that. He’s still got too much time to overthink, to struggle into uncertainty. 

He thinks about Elliot. There’s a rational part of him that is mad at the boy. He is, without any trace of doubt, an asshole. His personality changes from moment to moment. He knows that Elliot sometimes is not himself, Angela told him so, and he has verified the fact in person. He knows that the person with who he had shared intimate moments is the other Elliot… the one who is mean, ambitious, confident. But he loves every part of Elliot. Every edgy part of him. 

And to see him like that, broken, in pieces, has made his heart heavy. He can’t stop wondering what is Elliot doing now, if he’s ok. He’s certainly not. Something snapped, something had happened to him. And even if he feels angry toward the guy, pissed off by his being fucking impossible to deal with, he can’t help it: the worry is killing him on the inside, has planted his seeds and invaded his brain, making it sprouts the fruits of awe and anguish. 

Darlene arrives back, and he’s about to start the engine to drive to the next hospital, but she doesn’t enter the car. She leans on the door instead. 

“She’s here.”

That is… unexpected. Well, it would have happened, sooner or later. Tyrell has just got used to that strange routine of a driving night. 

“Oh. Glad to hear that.” his voice is polite, detached, but he strives to put up a fake smile. Darlene doesn’t smile back. She sighs, tired, and diverts her gaze toward nothing in particular. 

It’s strange, though. Tyrell told her to call when she would have found Dom, but she has come here in person instead. Perhaps she has something to say.  
It looks like that. She squirms on her spot, awkwardly. 

“Listen…” another sigh. Tyrell raises a brow, waiting for her to finally speak up. 

“…Thanks. I-” she chuckles, nervously, and moves a lock behind her ear. “I haven’t been very nice to you. And, uhm, I know I’m not the easiest person to deal with. But… I have appreciated your help, tonight. You’re… not that bad.” 

“Half-bad.” Tyrell jokes, reusing her words and causing a slight chuckle in her. “Yeah… half-bad.” 

For a moment, they stare at each other in silence. Tyrell can tell, Darlene hasn’t finished talking yet. Now he’s getting curious. 

“You know… about my brother.”

This is exactly where he expected her to end. Now she’s got his full attention. 

Darlene rolls her eyes and gesticulates with emphasis. “I know, he’s a jerk sometimes… and he does that. Pushing people away, he-” a scoff, bitter. “-he does that to me all the time. And I get worried, because I know he’s not good, I know he’s alone and hurt… thing is, sometimes he doesn’t act in his own interest.”

Tyrell opens his mouth to say something but freezes, eyes in a confused frown. “What do you mean… he doesn’t act in own interest?”

She shifts on her feet, uncomfortable. It takes a lot for her to respond. Maybe she’s pondering for the right words. 

“I told you. He pushes people away. But, in the end… he needs them to not give up on him.”

Tyrell stays silent while thinking hard about her words. Elliot doesn’t act in his own interest… maybe that variable would make clearer the unpredictability of the boy’s actions, apparently out of sense. So what? What is she suggesting now?

Looks like Darlene reads his mind, because what she says next is: “Go to him. He needs someone on his side in his war against the world.” 

Tyrell blinks at her in shock, caught totally off guard. Then, he collects his composure and bites his lips while gripping the steering wheel tight. 

“I don’t want to… force myself in.” they were Elliot’s words, after all. He said that more than once. 

Unexpectedly, she snorts out a laugh at that. Like it’s some sort of joke. 

“Bullshit! Dude, it’s Elliot. There’s no other way than _force yourself in_ with him, sometimes. You can’t seriously expect him to let you enter. That’s not how it works.”  
Tyrell swallows and sends her a sheepish look. She’s smiling now, and he can’t help feeling some strange sense of gratitude toward her, of thankfulness. After all… she’s not that bad either. Maybe he misjudged her. 

She pulls off her phone from her pocket and starts to type fast next, under Tyrell’s curious gaze. 

“Here… he’s in a motel out of town now. I have sent you the position.” 

His phone vibrates in the pocket of his coat immediately. That’s so… considerate. 

“Darlene…” he starts, but trails off, out of words. Why is that so difficult? He doesn’t fucking know how to act. It’s easier to play a part, to put up a mask and create his persona. This… he doesn’t really know how to deal with it. 

Luckily, the girl just dismisses him with a wave of her hand.

“Dude, don’t sweat it, ok? Now, chop, chop. Go to the little Elliot, he could use some company.”

Tyrell stares at her, out of words. 

She’s doing this because she’s trusting him. She believes that he can be good for his brother, she believes in him.

It has been a while since someone has believed in him. Not as CEO, as a businessman, as a hacker, just him, as a person, a human being with his forces and frailty. It feels… good. Oddly good. 

Tyrell’s mouth feels suddenly dry while his eyes start to stupidly water. He turns to not make them visible and runs a hand to his face. Why is he feeling so overwhelmed by something so trivial, so banal?

He can almost hear Joanna’s voice scolding him. Telling him that he’s weak, that he’s a failure. That he has been driven by human banalities. Extraordinary people are not driven by human banalities. 

Perhaps he has stopped trying to be extraordinary. Perhaps he has surrendered to human banalities.

Joanna’s voice snarls at him. 

He shuts her up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friend.
> 
> An unlikely alliance :)
> 
> One thing that I love about the show are the moments where the characters spend some time in doing something "not useful for the plot", but useful for their personal growth, as the episode "don't delete me" (one of my favorites) or the driving night of Darlene and the drunk santa. It's an odd but yet sweet random situation. So, the concept was pretty much the same ahah idk if I failed miserably!  
> The characters are so beautifully complex that is soo difficult to stay in, but, well, I try my best. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and I hope you liked it :)


	5. Root

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I crave that look but it creeps me out.

Hello friend.

I guess you’re wondering by now if I’ve changed my mind about deleting myself. I’m sorry to cause you pain, but truth is, I can’t leave things unfished. I told you that before. 

I won’t do that until Whiterose will be done. Yeah, I guess you could say that I’m just postponing things. Maybe is my sense of duty, a rational part of me that drives me on until I have accomplished my mission. 

I remember Tyrell saying something about me being a perfectionist, that time we were hacking Steel Mountain. Perhaps he’s right, maybe is all about me being a perfectionist.   
Shit. Why am I thinking about him again? He’s not even here. I wish he could leave me alone. 

But I can’t blame him. Not this time. It’s all on me. Or maybe on Mr. Robot. 

Did he know it was going to end up like this? Was it some sick, made-up, plan? For what? That doesn’t make any sense. I scrutinize him, looking for a goddamn honest answer. He’s right here now, walking nervously around the room while I sit in the corner, in a curled-up position. I like to be in the corner when I’m like this, I like to become smaller and invisible. But, as much as I try, I can’t make myself disappear in front of him, because he is, me. 

And he’s answering my internal question.

“It was an unforeseen risk, kiddo.”

Because, of course, he’s in my mind too. 

“You can’t forecast this kind of shit. You know, it goes just out of control.” he hisses, throwing his arms in the air, looking totally pissed off. Pissed off. Funny, because he’s the one who dragged us in this mess, he has no reason to act annoyed. 

Doesn’t matter, though. Soon none of this will matter, and is just a relieving thought in the back of my mind, like knowing that you will eventually pull out the thorn that is stinging in your flank. A promise of happiness. I close my eyes and exhale, trying to breathe the oxygen that is lacking since I got broken by Vera. I just need to hold on a little longer, if I only could…

“You’re not seriously planning on doing it, ain’t you?!” 

Mr. Robot sounds angry now. I feel almost bad at that, things were going so fine between us, finally. It all started last night. It also started with Tyrell Wellick forcing himself in my place. If I could just rewind time and cancel the last 24 hours, maybe I could handle the ton of shit that has struck me, maybe I could fix it, maybe I could…

“Maybe, maybe, maybe. Do you hear yourself?! Stop questioning. The past is the past, kiddo. You can’t delete shit, you’re making it worse! Stop tormenting yourself!” Robot yells in my face. He wants to make me react, get me on edge, he’s searching for a reaction that is not self-complaint, that is a fight. I think I get him by now. But I’m tired, I’m fucking tired. 

I don’t want to fight with him anymore. 

“Stop playing with my head.” I wish I could sound firmer, more convincing. It’s like I’m not even convinced myself. 

He throws his arms in the air.

“Yeah, well, flash news: I am in your fucking head! Face it.” 

I don’t want this right now. I don’t have the energy to face it. Why can’t he just stop being mad at me and leave me taking my choices? He’s not helping. It’s not that I’m happy to delete myself, it’s just that I can’t do anything else. I got no choice, I know, my friend, it seems different from the outside, but, I swear. Sometimes it feels like I had spent a life avoiding the inevitable. 

Do you feel that too? The heaviness of a route of dread and loneliness, the curse of a fate that has been programmed. 

I look up at Mr. Robot. He seems distressed. He raises his hat and runs a hand in the hair. Then, he sits next to me on the floor, laying his elbows on his knees. 

It looks like we’re ready for a pep-talk, friend. 

“Listen… what I’m trying to say is, you’re focused on your past, on your regrets, but this is not useful, kiddo. You can’t change what is done, what happened. You keep imagining different scenarios in your head, a better life, a better world, a different line of events…” 

I need to. It’s all I’ve got. 

“…But is never going to happen. I know it sounds banal, but accept the truth. Stop lying to yourself, stop trying to evade from reality, you have to pass through this shitstorm, sooner or later.”

This shitstorm? Oh, he means the fact that my father sexually molested me, that I created him because of my trauma, that I’m crazy, my mind is split, that I’m an addict, mentally ill, and I don’t even know which thoughts are mine? 

I grit my teeth in frustration. This how he’s making me feel now; frustrated. Because he must undermine me every time. 

“My life has been a shitstorm. I have never had a moment to breathe! I’m fucking tired, I struggled for all this time, and for what?!” 

But he knows that, doesn’t he? It’s me, after all.

I press the palms of my hands on my eyes and rub hard. The anxiety is rising up again, knocking on the back of my mind, while I feel my throat constricting. Why is he doing that? He’s pushing me and pushing me, driving me insane, dragging me on the edge of this ravine. I don’t want to jump, and he’s about to throw me down. 

Why? Stop sticking that thorn in the stinging wound. He insists. He pushes. I just want to stop suffering once for all, why can’t he just let me? 

“So you give up? You delete yourself? Is that what you want?” now there is an ugly, mockery sneer on Mr. Robot’s face. Maybe he’s not taking me seriously. Is he challenging me?   
I stare at him in silence, waiting for him to speak again. But he doesn’t, no, he keeps smirking and sends me that glare that means an invitation. 

Like. Go on. 

“Why don’t you do it?” finally, he urges me. The sick bastard.

I clench my fists in anger. 

“I got shit to do first.” My voice comes out as a hiss. He scoffs at that. Yeah, really funny, is it? 

“You got shit to do.”

…now I’m about to punch him. Or punch myself, whatever. I really don’t get his game. 

“Is that the lie you’re telling yourself?”  
“It’s not a lie.”   
“It is!”

My anxiety has now shifted to a boiling rage. How dare he talks to me like that? This is also his fault. He has messed up my life even more, he had made it a living nightmare. I should shut him off, cancel his existence from my life once for all. I guess I’ll do that, when the moment will come. 

I’m about to retort, to shout at him, but when I turn to his face what I find has the power to make me stop. There’s something softer now on his expression, something akin to sadness. 

“Elliot…” he starts, sighing. “Why do you think you created me?” I open my mouth to talk but he promptly interrupts me, leaving me gasping like a fish. 

“Because you needed to protect yourself. It was the only way to go on living. You-” he pokes my chest, making me flinch. “-You’re full of resources. That’s what you do. Strive to survive as best as you can. You’ve never meant to be someone who gives up.” 

I swallow, out of words.

He’s… right. I always tried to survive as best as I could. I always wanted to get things right. It’s like… the woods. I was walking even if I knew I was gonna die. But I couldn’t stop, because that’s exactly what I do. I go on until there’s air in my lungs. 

Shit. How could I forget about that? This is just me. I can’t possibly delete myself. 

This is not how I work. Did he know it till the beginning? 

I can’t delete myself. But I can’t live like this either, not now that I discovered the origin of Mr. Robot. I’m at a crossroad. I’m lost.   
I start to fidget with my fingers and talk with my eyes glued on them. 

“…What should I do?” it comes out sheepish, and uncertain. It’s a pretty simple question, but it’s actually crashing my mind. 

Robot makes a face and scratches his chin. The answer arrives after a long amount of time.

“Start to heal.” He breathes out, and I can’t avoid a darting sensation of annoyance in my guts.

Start to heal. Yeah. He makes it easy. Like I didn’t fucking try thousand times. 

I scoff, sour.   
“How?”

He sighs and shifts on his spot, and now it looks like he’s browsing for the right words in his mind. 

“You know… some people would say therapy. That is something you definitely could do, but I’m pretty sure you will, after your reconciliation with Krista. My suggestion, for now, is to start living in the present.”

“Start living in the present?” I repeat, astonished. 

He shrugs. “Yeah… right, for example, you can start with opening the door to him.” 

Wait. What? Who? Is it a figure of speech?

I blink dumbfounded at Mr. Robot, trying to decipher his cryptic words, when he points at the door of the room. I can see the shadow of someone on the threshold. I guess we all can agree that is pretty obvious who this person could be. He’s persistent, I give him that. 

I get on my feet, trying to switch my mind ready for what will come next. But what is it, exactly? I really can’t understand my own feelings toward it, and this gets me confused and disoriented as hell. Scares me, even. 

When I open the door, I find him standing in front of it, a hand on his hip and the other one rubbing his mouth, while his eyes are pointed on the ground with a pensive frown. It’s like he was uncertain if knock or not on my door, hesitant about what he’s been doing. I find myself thinking that is strangely out of character, or, at least, out of the idea that my mind has about him. But, after all, I don’t know him that much. 

He lifts his gaze on me, looking in awe. Then, he raises his hands in a gesture of surrender and speaks fast and nervous something that seems like a prepared speech.   
“Elliot. I didn’t want to force myself in, and I didn’t hack your phone, this time Darlene really gave me your position, I swear-”

It comes out instinctive. Like this morning, at Angela’s place. The corners of my mouth that curl up in a smile. It’s strange, though, an automatic reflex of something that I don’t do that much. A foreign sensation. 

Tyrell’s face shifts from an anxious mess to something akin to confused amusement. 

“What?” he’s smiling too, showing the pearl-like white teeth. 

I shake my head and take a step back, but there’s still a faint trace of a smile on my face. 

For a moment he looks interdicted before entering the room, like he can’t figure out why I’m doing it, letting him in. Truth is, I really don’t know either. I guess I’m just following Mr. Robot’s advice and opening the door, or maybe I don’t want to think too much about the origins of my actions. Not now. 

He walks in and starts to talk. Like, really fast. He’s nervous, I can tell and relate too. 

“I know that you want to be alone, that you don’t need me. It’s just… I’m worried. Your behavior of this afternoon was odd, Elliot.”

He places himself in front of the window, giving me his back. Perhaps to hide. I guess he doesn’t like to feel this exposed. Funny though, he exposed himself to me a lot of times.   
“You can just tell me to go. I just need to know that you’re ok. Because I care about you.”

The simplicity with he tells stuff that would require geological eras to be said from me.

I approach him, but he doesn’t turn toward me. But I want to. I just send a quick glance to Mr. Robot, who’s scrutinizing the scene with a strange smirk plastered on his face. It looks like he prefers to be left aside. 

“Tyrell. Look at me.” 

And he goes on command. When I meet his eyes, my mouth feels dry, for some reason. He looks tired, pained, even. I guess he is, he has been shot just the night before, after all. I’m tired too. Shit. How long since the last time I slept? Must be 48 hours. 

Tyrell swallows, keeping eye contact with a certain wariness. Alert. 

“…It’s ok.” 

He squirms on his spot at this, clearly caught off guard. It’s like all the façade, the insolence, the arrogance has been dissolved in him, leaving space for a rather insecure man. Almost fun to confront with his usual self. 

I internally sigh for what I’m about to do next. But I guess it’s inevitable. Sooner or rather, the confrontation must arrive. Better to pull off the thorn that is stuck in my flank.   
“Thank you for checking up on me. For caring about me. And… I’m sorry if I treated you like shit.” 

Tyrell’s gaze shifts into something akin to sadness. It’s like he’s trembling, slightly. But maybe I’m shaking too. I don’t know, thoughts are pretty confused right now, my friend.  
“…I never meant to use you. I… I don’t remember being with you, but I wish I did.” 

He doesn’t react, doesn’t move. He’s waiting for me to talk again, tearing me apart with those eyes. 

My voice is cracked, a stuttering mess. Shit. I can’t do this. I can. I must. 

“I wish things could have been different between us. Not… not like that. I…” I trail off. I can’t read his face now. It’s like he’s resolving a complex equation while scanning me with that heavy gaze. I feel like I’m starting to melt. I hate how he has this power over me. 

After a few seconds spent waiting for me to go on, he sighs and, out of every expectation, walks past me. I stare at him, gasping dumbfounded. I even send an inquisitive look to Mr. Robot, but he shrugs in response. 

Tyrell acts with a strange, elegant and slow grace. There’s always something gracious about his movements, about the composure that contrasts that much with when he loses his mind. The man is a living rollercoaster. Maybe this is what scares me about him, I never know what to expect, how he will react next.

He pulls off the coat, hanging it next to the door. Then, it’s the jacket’s turn. The sleeves of the shirt next, rolled until the elbow. 

After what is perceived as an eternity, he moves next to the desk and points at the chair. 

“Sit down.” He orders. I’m not sure about how his smile makes me feel, something between creeped out and turned on, to be brutally honest. This is the great paradox of him.   
Hesitant, I obey and sit, hands hooked in my pockets. He rubs his chin, scrutinizing from my figure to the environment around us. I really, really don’t get him. Is that me? My lack of knowledge in the social matter? Or is him, just weird as fuck?

He takes a few steps back and clears his voice. 

What comes out next has the power to astonish me, leave me as a gasping dumb mess. 

He walks to me, a hand in his pocket and the best lascivious grin put upon his face.

“Oh, hi.” 

He reaches out a hand toward me and all I can do is stare. But he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t retract, he keeps the act, his figure suddenly inspires that same boldness, confidence of the first time we met. 

“Tyrell Wellick.” 

Again, without any control, a grin spreads on my face. 

“Tyrell, this is just stupid, I…” but he doesn’t leave me the time to complain. He goes on, undisturbed. 

“…Senior Vice President of technology.” 

My grin widens a little. 

“It’s not even your actual title, man. You’re selling yourself low. I’m impressed.”

Tyrell is stretching his hand toward me, still waiting for my shake. 

“This is because I’m proving my unconditional love to you.” He waves his palm, urging me. “Come on, Elliot… introduce yourself properly.” apart from the fact that he has just literally called my name?

I don’t know why; I decide to indulge in his stupid game. There’s a slight ‘clap’ at the moment our hands meet, and his one is cold, exactly as I remember it being the first time I shook it. 

“Elliot.” I say, without any sense. “Just an… unemployed criminal, I guess.” 

There’s a flash, a glimpse of amusement that crosses his eyes. Then, we both burst into laughter at the same time. I could have never imagined myself in this situation, but I must say, it feels good, liberating, even. 

Tyrell’s laugh is soon replaced by a pained grunt. However, there’s still a wide grin even when he moves a hand on his belly.

“Fuck, you ok?” I inquire. He leans on the desk while pressing a hand on the wound and nods, with his breath a little shaky. “Yeah. It’s just annoying. But I am on heavy painkillers, so…” 

“You should get some sleep.” 

How did I end up caring about Tyrell’s wellbeing? Just yesterday I would have never believed something like that. But yesterday I didn’t know about the frisky past of us either.   
He sends me a quick glare that I quite don’t catch. Mr. Robot is still looking at us as a spectator, he hasn’t intervened since Tyrell has walked in the room. I wonder why.   
“Ok.” Tyrell breathes out. He’s about to grab his jacket when I intercept his actions, snapping on my feet and dragging the chair with the movement.   
“I mean… you can stay here.” Shit. Where did it come from?

And here is where his gaze twitches into something akin to interest. Fuck. Now he’s gonna think that I want to have sex with him. That mine is a proposition. Do I want it? Fuck, no, what the hell am I thinking? 

I’m about to panic, I’m about to-

“You’re hurt and it’s a long way drive.” It’s my voice that comes out, but it’s not. Finally, Mr. Robot has decided to come to my rescue.   
Tyrell smiles and places his hands on my shoulders, squeezing them. 

“Thank you, Elliot. That’s very considerate of you.” There’s a strange reverence in his voice that creeps me out. I need to lighten up the atmosphere, so I shrug it off.   
“Don’t sweat it, man.”

Finally, he lets go of my shoulders. I feel like I can breathe again.

…Until he turns and starts to unbutton his shirt. 

“Are you comfortable with me sleeping in my underwear?” he casually inquires, formally, even. I gulp and instantly divert my sight, trying not to look like I’m interested in his now uncovered back. 

Why did I end up in this situation? I dug my own hole. Now Mr. Robot seems amused. The fucker. 

“I’m comfortable with you not making dumb questions.” I retort, sour. Tyrell turns to me at that, scoffing, but luckily not adding anything. 

The best solution is to act like I’m not touched by the situation, like I couldn’t care less. Like I’m not about to throw myself in the bed with a person who I had sex with and that is clearly interested in replaying the intercourse for a second round. 

I hastily undress, leaving just my underwear and the black t-shirt, and get under the blanket, setting the alarm for the next day on my phone in order to avoid looking at Tyrell in any possible way. 

Of course, he takes his sweet time to get himself ready to bed. However, when he places himself on the mattress, I can hear the muffled whimpers that come out of his mouth due to the pain caused by the movements. My stomach makes a strange twitch. 

I’m giving him my back, so it’s less awkward to talk to him. 

“You’ll get used to it. It heals fast.” I don’t even know why I feel the need to reassure him. I hear him let out a small laugh in response, next to me.  
“You know what they say. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

…I guess I should be invincible by now, then.

He gets closer to me, and, for a moment, I’m about to panic. Maybe he’s going to kiss me now. Instead, he just turns off the light on the bedside table. 

For a moment, I feel something like… disappointment. And it’s stupid, because I don’t want him to kiss me. At all. I feel idiotic just in having this kind of thoughts. 

I hear him twisting in the bed, so our backs are almost pressed now. From here, I can smell his fancy cologne. It’s gross. It’s not. 

“Good night, Elliot.” His voice is dreamy, mellifluous, as usual.  
I clench the blankets tight in my fingers and spats out a quick ‘night’ myself.

* * *

It’s a loud knocking sound that drags me out of my sleep. 

In the very beginning it’s difficult to recognize where I am. The room is small and bare, but there’s more light that fills the air compared to the usual one of my shithole apartment. The fabric of the blanket feels foreign too, it’s rougher. 

I’m in a king-size bed, and there’s someone else who’s sleeping next to me, I can hear the relaxed pace of his breathing. 

I point my elbows on the mattress and shift in a seated position, trying to focus on the room. Tyrell is sleeping peacefully on his belly, with an arm under the pillow. It doesn’t even look like a comfortable position. His defined back is left completely exposed. There’s a groove on his spine and I find myself thinking, out of every possible sense, I would like to slide my finger over the smooth surface of his skin, studying the shapes of this body in his real form, raw and…

Shit. What the fuck. It must be the morning wood. I’m staring. Stop staring. Does he know that I’m staring at him? Is he faking his sleep? Is he letting me? 

No. It doesn’t make any sense. He’s just asleep. Come on. Get a grip.

Here comes the knock again. This time has the power to disturb Tyrell too. I see him shifting and mumbling something in Swedish on the pillow, bringing it over his head. It’s strangely cute. Strangely domestic. Strangely…

“Yo, man! Open up! The sun shines, bro.” 

I recognize the voice. It’s him, I contacted him in order to help Darlene and Dom getting the hell out of the scene. I didn’t know he would have come this early, though.   
I jump off the bed and hastily put on my jeans, hopping along the way till the door. When I open it, the grinning figure of Leon appears in front of me, dressed up as an east coast gangsta rapper as usual. 

“Yo, Elliot! Long time no see, man!” he greets enthusiastically, patting my shoulder with way too much strength. I mumble something back when I catch his glare moving on Tyrell, behind me. I check on him, instinctively, he’s waking up in what seems like a dazed state of blunt confusion. I can relate. 

Leon’s grin widens a little while he pats on my shoulder a second time. “Ahhh… I see you’re in sweet company. That’s good.” He waves his hand and shakes his head. “As I said, bro, I don’t judge.” Yeah, I recall him saying something like that when we were prison companions. 

My cheeks are starting to color red, and I wish I could just throw myself out of the window. But I don’t want to show it, I don’t want to make a fuss out of this, so, the best move is to act nonchalantly, as nothing happened.

Wait a minute, shit, it’s true that nothing happened. We had just literally slept together, nothing more. Leon is just misjudging the situation and, anyway, I shouldn’t care. Why the hell do I care?

Tyrell gets up in a seated position and runs a hand in his hair, looking disoriented. His hair is totally disheveled and there’s a confused, lost frown on his face. 

“Holy shit, man!” Leon points at him, suddenly all worked up. “You’re that Wellick dude!” 

At these words, Tyrell makes a face and shoots me a glance between perplexed and irritated. 

“Elliot. Who’s this guy?” his voice comes out sour and firm and, for a moment, I fear that I may be walking on a landmine. I shrug it off, still standing awkwardly on the doorjamb.   
“He’s Leon. He worked for the Dark Army, but now he’s some sort of mercenary.”

“No god no master, bro. As I always say, you need to keep open to every possibility.” Leon points out, casually walking past me, leaving me a little bit dumbfounded on my spot. Tyrell is glaring at him, wary, a hand pressed on his belly and the other one clenching the blankets.

Fuck. I can’t deal with this shit this early morning. I shut the door with a sigh and watch Leon dragging the chair and placing himself in front of Tyrell, leaning with his elbows on the backrest.

He starts to scan Tyrell who keeps up the staring contest. Then, he pulls out his butterfly knife and starts playing with it absentmindedly. The kid is as fast a lightening with that damn knife. 

Tyrell stares back, and I’m kind of melting on my spot. Where’s Mr. Robot?

After what is felt like an eternity, Leon points to Tyrell’s wound with a small nod of his chin. 

“Is that a stab or a bullet?” he casually inquires. Tyrell sighs and rubs the palms of his hands on his eyes, suddenly look all way tired. “Bullet.” He breathes out, after a while.   
Leon tuts. “No good, man. You got to change the bandage. This shit is gonna rot your vein, I tell ya. Keep that clean and smooth, bro.” At this unexpected advice, Tyrell can just blink in confusion. Perhaps he’s just trying to figure out if the strange kid in front of him is a friend or a foe. Leon starts talking with his singsong cadence, never stopping playing with the knife.

“You’re swede, right? I heard a lot of people kill themselves there. Like, suicide record shit. I understand, ya know? Cold as fuck, not much sun… this shit got in your head, man. You start to think all the freaky shit when you get to fight against darkness.”

Tyrell makes a face at that. “It’s not that dark. I mean, it depends on how close you are to the Arctic Circle and…” he groans then, interrupting himself. “Why the fuck am I even telling you this?! I’m an American citizen, by the way.” He spats, sounding almost outraged. 

Leon chuckles slightly. “Yeah, right. But you cannot erase your roots. It’s in your vein, man. Comes out from momma’s tits. You can hate them, fight against them all your life, but in the end, you see yourself in the mirror and that’s it, man! The same angry kid, he’s still there, bro.” 

I can perceive Tyrell’s annoyance, while I’m still standing in my spot, assisting at this odd scene. However, luckily, he doesn’t snap or react badly. He just scoffs and finally moves his eyes on me. 

“What the fuck is he saying? This is… an overflow of information. I can hear just an indefinite, buzzing static sound that I quite can’t catch.”   
I can’t help but roll my eyes while Leon lets out a high-pitched cackle.

“Ya know what? You’re the whitest dude that I ever met. I mean, metaphorically but literally too, bro. Like, Twilight vampire shit. I tell ya.”   
At these words, Tyrell gets completely caught off guard. He deepens his frown, confused, and gasps like a fish. 

“…What?” 

I decide that is the right moment to intervene in this battle between brains. We got shit to do, anyway.

“You got medical stuff in your car?” I question Tyrell, changing dramatically the subject. He nods back.  
“Good. I’ll go get it.” I announce while hastily slipping on my shoes. Tyrell weakly protest back. “There’s no need, I can…” but when he tries to get up from the bed, he ends up stopping in a pained grunt. 

Leon tuts. “Listen to your boy, man. These gestures are important, bro. Like that Jonze’s movie, ya know? The one with the guy who wants to bang his telephone? This made me think, what about we’re really soo focused on technology that we are about to replace our laids? It’s a serious matter bro, cyberreality, virtual reality… naah, I don’t get it. Skin to skin, human contact, interaction, that’s in our genes, man. Like, have you ever heard about that experiment on that kid? The one that…”

I can hear Tyrell mumbling something behind my back, shocked and overwhelmed by Leon’s infinite flow, but I don’t know what exactly because I’m already out of this small room. The morning breeze hits my skin and revives my senses. It’s a pleasant kind of chill. 

“Are you sure they ain’t gonna kill each other down there?” Is Mr. Robot who has finally decided to show up, walking next to me toward Tyrell’s SUV. I tsk at him.   
“I can’t get worried every time I leave the guy alone with somebody else.” Is my dry response while keeping a steady gait to the parking lot. 

“Yeah, but… you never know with Tyrell, how he can snap.” Robot jokes. I shrug it off. “Leon is a good kid.”

Besides, I’m not Tyrell’s fucking babysitter. Even if it feels like that in these recent developments. I reach his car and get the bag full of medical supplies from the trunk. It’s odd, his car smells like smoke. I remember it smelling something like sterile hospital the last time I woke up in it. I decide not to wonder too much about it.

When I get back in the room, the scene that appears in from of me is pretty much the same that I have left: Leon speaking with his trademark flow, sitting on the chair, and Tyrell still half-naked in the bed. 

At least, they don’t seem on bad terms. On the contrary, Tyrell seems oddly relaxed. It’s what comes out next from his mouth that has the power to surprise me, leave me dumbfounded on the threshold of the room. 

“Oh, Elliot.” And his voice is soft, calm. “Are you keen on doing cocaine with me?”

…

…What?

I gasp like a fish. Did he seriously just ask me that or is my nutbrain imagination?

I send a quick glare to Leon, but he looks totally disinterested while he continues to play with his knife.

“What?” I just stutter, dumbly. Tyrell is looking at me with that angel-like stupid face.

“I think it would help us in enforcing our reciprocal trust.” He explains, practical, like he’s talking about starting a new project in a business meeting. “And, also, it would help you with your physical boundaries.”

Mr. Robot snorts out a laugh at that while I found myself blushing. _Physical boundaries_?! Did he just tell me that I’m frigid?! 

“He kind of has a point, kiddo.” My other half jokes next to me, and all I can do is just throwing the bag on the desk with a loud groan. 

Seriously, is too early for this shit. 

“Shut up.” I snarl, sounding almost petulant. Leon shrugs at that. “It’s up to you bro, I got the best shit in town.” I ignore him, them, as I start to rummage in the bag, pulling out some disinfectant and painkillers. 

I guess they had found something in common, after all. It’s better than our previsions, mine and Mr. Robot’s. Maybe Tyrell can avoid being a total dickhead when he wants. Should I feel glad about it?

“I think I can get it by now.” I announce, trying to not sound too flustered. “Leon, you can wait outside. I got to check up on those stitches.” 

The boy snaps on his feet at my command, mumbling something like ‘snitches get stitcheezz’ to himself. He stops on the doorjamb, then, and turns last-minute to Tyrell. 

“Yo E-Corp. Don’t hesitate to call me if you wanna try a sample. Best shit in town bro, I tell ya.” He pats his fist on his chest and Tyrell sends him his trademark smirk. “Consider it done. But I must advise you: I’m a very fussy customer.” “And I am a very qualitative seller!” Leon speaks back, opening wide his arms in the air. Then, he waves his hand equipped with his knife to us. 

“See ya later, birdies!” he closes the door behind his back, and I can hear him singing a rap song while walking away.

 _Rap snitches, telling all their business, sit in the court and be their own star business…_ his voice eventually fades while I kneel in front of Tyrell to scan at his wound. 

“Didn’t know you were into dope.” I comment, with a flat voice, while slowly pulling out the big band-aid on his stomach under his hiss. I try not to think too much about our sudden proximity. Or about the fact that I’m nursing him without even know why.

“Oh, I’m not.” Tyrell speaks with a mellifluous voice despite the pain. “…Just on special occasions.” 

My eyes meet his for a fleeting moment. Then, I’m back on my work. Is better not to look too much at him. 

“…But I have become addicted to alcohol since Joanna’s death.” Tyrell tells so with an oddly calm voice that causes a chill to my spine. I stay silent, concentrated. I’m afraid to meet his gaze. 

“However, I’m very rigid in keeping up a solid schedule. I can’t afford to have dependencies that can interfere with my work, so, I keep it under control.”

Another chill. Shit. This sounds too familiar. I hate the fact that we have so many things in common. Do I?

I keep up not looking at him, ignoring him while focused on my task. I grab the disinfectant and remove the cap.  
“This will sting a little.”

* * *

Hello friend.

I’m not good with goodbyes, but I guess nobody is.

I can’t really switch it on in a comfortable mood in social circumstances. But the good thing is that my sister is like me, so this is making it less awkward. 

I wish I could hide less my emotions, my feelings to the people. But is just too painful. This is how I am, the compromise my head has made with the outside world. So, it’s strange when we hug.

We don’t do that shit that much.

“Thank you for not giving up on me.” 

She exhales a small chuckle on my shoulder, but I can perceive how she’s trembling. Maybe she’s about to cry. Maybe I am too. 

Her perfume is strong and spicy to the nostrils. So different from Tyrell’s, there is something fruity about her smell. And, I stupidly realize, when I’m clenching her shoulders, that is good to recognize someone’s smell. It’s a trivial thought, I do realize that, but I can’t help it. 

“Yeah, I guess someone needs to look up on you.” I hear her sniffling, and when we part, she’s wiping a single tear from her eye. I feel mine watering too, due to an uncontrolled reflex. 

“Besides… there’s someone else who will do that while I’m away.” Darlene nods in Tyrell’s distant figure, making my head turning toward him moved by instinct. 

He’s smoking, since now he’s apparently a chain smoker since last night, leaning with the back pressed on his car, eyes pointed to the sky in what looks like a deep pensive frown.   
I move my eyes back on Darlene and find myself gasping like a fish, out of smart things to say. 

Should I reassure her? Tell her that she has nothing to worry about? Should I deny it? Fuck. I don’t know. Wait a minute, since when she likes Tyrell? 

“I’m not… it’s not…” I stutter, nervously, making her laugh at that, apparently. 

“Elliot… it’s ok.” she squeezes my shoulder. “Try to take care of yourself, ok?”

All I can do is nod. But she seems satisfied with it. She smiles at me and takes a step back while putting on the trademark sunglasses. 

My heart makes a strange twitch. She’s going, for real. I’m happy for her, but the idea of not having her around brings almost a state of panic. And regret. I wasn’t able to show her how important she is for me; all I could do was to treat her like shit and being a top-grade asshole. Shit. I don’t need to start this train of thoughts. Mr. Robot is right, I’m always focused on things I can’t change, things I don’t have control over. 

Darlene walks backwards with a wide grin on her face. Then, she turns her head toward Tyrell, who’s still leaning on his car, a few meters from her. 

“So looong, freakshow!” 

He rolls his eyes at the mock name. But he doesn’t look really affected. As if it were an exchange of banters between friends. 

Darlene is about to twist on her spot to walk toward Dom and Leon, who are waiting from a distance, but looks like she remembers something else to say, at last minute. She turns toward Tyrell again, and speaks never leaving that grin on her face.

“Tack så mycket for yesterday!” 

Tyrell tsks while the corners of his mouth curl up in a smirk. 

“Varsågod. Have a nice trip, Darlene.” 

They exchange a last look, then, Darlene is walking away. For real. 

Tyrell moves next to me while I watch Leon’s Cadillac fading. We stay like that for a while, shoulder to shoulder, eyes pointed in front of us. Mr. Robot is staying aside, on his own.   
Then, finally, Tyrell moves in front of me. For some strange reason, it’s like I lack oxygen in my lungs. He stares at me from the up of our difference of heights, face close to mine, invading my personal space as he often does. 

“Elliot, I…”  
I don’t want to hear it. 

“I need to do this alone.” I interrupt him, resolute, keeping the eye-challenge as the best as I can. He needs to accept it. I started all this I’ll be the one to finish.   
For a moment, he scrutinizes me without saying anything, clenching his jaw and furrowing his brows. Maybe he’s going to impose himself, to force himself in.   
But then, it’s strange. 

A sudden cold touch makes me flinch. His hand is on my cheek. His eyes go softer. His mouth curls into a smile. He’s cold and warm at the same time. 

“Ok.” he exhales. “You have made your final decision, Elliot. But remember, I will always be on your side. Whatever happens.”

He’s stroking my cheek now and I found myself closing my eyes and tilting my head at the touch. It’s delicate. Like I’m made of glass. 

I feel like I should push him away now. Interrupting this contact and whatever else this thing is between us. But maybe I’m just procrastinating a little longer, because it feels… good. 

Can I do it? Can I continue a little more? I’m just so tired to be alone, tired of the emptiness, the lack of air in my chest. Let me indulge in this. I know that he’s fucked up, I know that I’m fucked up too. But maybe… what if I can fix this? For real? Should I give a chance to this? Should I give it a try?

I open my eyes and find him still there, looking at me like I’m the most precious thing in the world. Shit. I don’t think anyone has ever looked at me like that and he’s making me fall into a state of indefinite desperation. I crave that look but it creeps me out. I’m in searching for the constant balance through opposite instances, roughly pulled from both sides. Which side will win now? 

Perhaps the one that wants to be loved. 

So, I do it. 

Cancel the distance, eradicate my doubt to follow the insight of my deepest desire. 

And he’s not surprised when I press my lips on his. At all, it’s like he was just waiting for me to do it, to not force himself in. He was ready. He has been for a while.  
My fingers sink in his hair in auto mode. And it’s soft, fluffy, as I was expecting. 

Soon we’re kissing, for real, and it becomes heated and kind of frantic. Perhaps we fear that it could be our last kiss, and it’s funny, because it’s also the first one, for me.   
There’s a tacit competition between us. I push him until he has his back pressed on his car, finding myself driven by hunger I didn’t know I had, I had chosen to ignore and deny. But now… it’s like a resolution of an internal battle. Finally, something that makes sense. 

I like it. A lot. I don’t want it to stop. I want more. 

At some point he moans on my mouth and, I gotta be honest, my friend, it goes straight to my underwear. 

We part to gain air and I realize how I’m trembling. There’s chaos in my head, the thoughts are running wild and I find myself disoriented and dazed. 

His hand is caressing my cheek again, gently and carefully. I look at him with wide eyes, I look at the sight of his face is in this moment, his hair disheveled, his pupils blown in absolute arousal. 

Shit.

I gotta get a grip.

We’re in a fucking parking lot. I’m about to go to Whiterose and finish this story once for all. 

I swallow, hesitant. Am I still trembling like a leaf? 

“I gotta go.”

I got to. 

I take a step back and the sudden absence of his touch is like a cold shower. Is like being thrown into the icy breeze of the night. My eyes are still pointed at his. There’s that trace of sadness in his look, that ever-present shade of melancholy, of bitterness. It hurts and wonder me at the same time. 

“…I’ll be back.” 

He just nods. I don’t know if he believes me. Please make him do it. I want him to.

There’s nothing else to say. I walk away, feeling his eyes glued on my back, sensing all the heaviness of that gaze on me. 

I’m not good with goodbyes. I guess nobody is.

* * *

It’s not too late. I can fix this.

As long as I will have air in my lungs I’ll try to.

So, I sit at the computer while the world is crumbling around us. Mr. Robot is panicking, I can tell. He talks with a frantic voice while walking in circles and gripping his hair in desperation.

“Elliot! We gotta go. There’s no time for this shit!”

“No.”

As long as I will have air in my lungs. I’ll fix this. I must. 

I start that stupid game of Whiterose, ignoring the earthquakes that are shaking our ground, foreshadowing the imminent catastrophe, ignoring the constant sound of the alarm, the intermittent flashing red light that is disturbing our sight.

The first attempt goes wrong. Technically speaking, we win. But nothing happens. 

I’m missing something. She wanted us to win. 

I start again. 

_You’re trapped in a dungeon with your friend. You see a barrel. What do you do?_

My friend. Maybe it’s about my friend. What would you do for a friend?

_Sit down next to my friend._

I guess that’s what you should do, after all. 

_Your friend hands you a note. What do you do?_

Where is she going now? I use just a couple of seconds to think about something that would make sense. The basement is dark. We need to see the note. 

_Light a match._

I flinch when I read what comes out next. My body is struck by a violent chill. 

_The note says, “Don’t leave me here.” Do you leave your friend or stay?_

The woods. Him, when he was saying to leave him there. Him, who wanted the exact opposite. 

And I was about to do it. Leave. 

A single tear runs on my cheek. 

_Stay._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friend! 
> 
> I hope you liked that one. Maybe 2/3 chaps left, don't know where my mind will go eventually :) 
> 
> Leon is WISE! Love his character. 
> 
> As usual, feel free to share your feelings!


	6. Reboot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...This is where it goes mindfuck.
> 
> Enjoy!

Elliot’s eyes are glued to the screen of the tv, but his mind is completely out of tune. It’s strange, though; he’s not usually the type of guy with his head in the clouds, but this morning he had woken up with an odd, thick layer of dizziness between his thoughts. Perhaps he didn’t sleep well without noticing it. He doesn’t feel stressed or anxious, he doesn’t get stressed that easily, usually. 

But still, maybe there is something off under the surface that he can’t quite catch.

He takes another sip of his fuming mug of coffee and moves his eyes on Tyrell, who’s still discussing aloud at the telephone in Swedish, walking in circles in the living room, barefoot. 

Elliot can’t help but smile at the scene. Tyrell is so cute when he’s nervous, he starts to talk faster and fidget. Usually, he can’t show up these kinds of reactions at work, since he’s the CEO of F-Corp and needs to act relaxed and collected, but when he’s alone with Elliot, he can finally free himself and shows his fragility. Truth is, the guy is too sensitive, Elliot always tells him so. 

Tyrell has finished talking. He hangs up the phone and exhales a long sigh, running a hand in the hair. 

“Your sister?” Elliot casually inquires, smirking behind his mug. Tyrell nods and approaches the table with a dangling stride. He rudely throws the phone on the surface, making it collides with a loud ‘thud’. Elliot looks at the broken screen, just for a moment. Damn, only Tyrell can be the boss of one of the biggest companies in the country and get around with a cellphone with cracked glass without giving a flying fuck about it. 

Elliot admires him for his capacity of being himself in front of everyone, being respected and admired for his talent and not for the public or social image that he wants to show to other people. And he succeeds in that; everyone sees Tyrell Wellick under the light of the ‘eccentric genius’, the millionaire who wears hoodies and flannel shirts.   
Tyrell sits at the table and rubs his eyes with the palms of his hands. 

“They all gonna be here in the late afternoon.” He briefly announces, not sounding too excited about it. Elliot leans on the surface and moves his hand on Tyrell’s, by instinct.   
“You seem upset. Why? You haven’t seen them in a while, I would be thrilled.” 

Tyrell bites his lip and starts to rub his thumb on Elliot’s hand, eyes glued on the gesture, absentmindedly. 

“I know… and I am, don’t get me wrong.” he scratches his neck, awkwardly. “It’s just… there are so many variables in a wedding.”

Elliot can’t help it: he burst into laughter and leans forward to press a chaste kiss on the man he love’s temple. Tyrell chuckles back, a little bit sheepishly.   
“I mean… my parents don’t speak a word of English. And they had never traveled outside Västra Götaland that much. It’s gonna be weird.”

Elliot starts to stroke Tyrell’s smooth hair and leaves another small peck on his head. “You know that I like it weird.” His voice comes out bold, teasing, even. But Tyrell goes on talking, almost to himself. 

“They were about to bring Surströmming to you, as a gift. My sister stopped them, luckily.” Tyrell says, wrinkling his nose, causing another laugh in his partner. “What the hell is Surströmming?” and he probably mispronounced that but, well. 

“Fish. Swedish fish.” Tyrell exhales tiredly.

“Oh. Well, I like fish.”

“No, you don’t understand.” Now Tyrell is chuckling too, somehow. “It’s like… rotten fish. Traditionally Swedish. It’s… shit… how do you call it in English?” he diverts his gaze with a deep, pensive frown on his face while busy in the act of browsing the right word in his mind. Damn, how can anyone be that cute? Elliot must do an exercise in self-restraint to not kiss the hell out of him every two seconds. It’s too much, he’s such a teddy bear. 

“Herring!” he snaps, suddenly enlightened. “It’s rotten herring.” 

“So… your parents wanted to bring rotten fish in the airplane?” Elliot questions, not able to keep back the amusement. 

“…Yeah, I think so.”

They burst into a laugh at that, and Elliot can talk just after some time spent gaining back air in his lungs. 

“Babe.” He resumes the caresses on Tyrell’s hair. “Parents can be embarrassing, I know. I mean, look at my dad…” “No way!” his partner retorts, sounding almost outraged. “Your father is the coolest person on earth, Elliot.” Elliot rolls his eyes at these words. “You’re saying that because he loves you.” Tyrell lets out a cackle. “Ok, uhm, you made a point. I’m your father’s pupil.” “Yeah, sometimes I wonder if he loves you more than me.” “Oh, don’t say that! You’re just his second favorite!” 

Again, they need some time to gain back air after another heartfelt laugh. Damn, how much can someone love a single person? It’s incredible how comfortable Elliot feels with his partner, the lighten up and domestic atmosphere that is created when they’re alone in Tyrell’s house. He’s about to spend the rest of his life with this man and he has never been surer about something.

“Anyway…” Tyrell starts, pensive, leaning on his elbows on the surface of the table and looking ahead of him at nothing in particular. “…I’m not embarrassed, if that’s what you’re thinking. I just hope everything will go fine, that’s it.” Elliot’s smile widens. “It can’t go wrong.” he reassures, getting back to his mug of coffee. 

“Besides… I’m glad to meet your family. I wanna know everything about you.” 

Tyrell makes something akin to a scoff. “Yeah, well, there will be some linguistic and cultural issues. I’m telling you; it will be awkward.” 

Elliot shakes his head. “I don’t mind it awkward.” 

Their eyes meet, and for a moment, it’s just their gazes, silently entangled together. Is Elliot who breaks the silence.

“Meeting your family, your roots… it makes me think about how far you have come.” It’s a simple line that hides a heavy statement. Elliot is proud of him: proud of what he had become, the goals he achieved without losing his morality among the way. Tyrell should be an example for everyone, about how you can remain pure and humble even in a toxic work environment like theirs.

Tyrell makes a face. “I just crossed an ocean, babe. It’s not that much.” 

Elliot’s grin widens while he playfully pushes his partner’s shoulder. “Idiot! You know what I’m saying.” “Yeah, yeah.” Tyrell then sighs, looking suddenly thoughtful. “Maybe this is why I’m nervous. All the big shots will be there to greet us, and you know how much I hate those sharks. Always swimming around, waiting to gain something from us.”   
Elliot smiles, dropping the now finished mug on the table. “How can you blame them? I mean, the wedding of Allsafe’s and E-Corp’s CEOS is not something that you can assist every day.” He jokes, causing chuckles in Tyrell, but then, the man freezes, all of a sudden, off guard.

“Wait… E-Corp?”  
Elliot gasps like a fish, furrowing his brows in confusion.  
“No… F-Corp.”  
“You said E-Corp.”  
“No, I did not.”  
“I’m pretty confident you did, babe.” 

It’s strange. Elliot is not the kind of guy that makes this type of mistake. He’s quite accurate, a perfectionist, even. Must be a lapsus or something like that.  
Before he can add a thing, a sudden sensation of wetness on his nose hits his senses. He brings a hand on it, finding his index covered in droplets of blood.   
Of course, Tyrell gets instantly worked up.

“You’re bleeding!” he exclaims, snapping on his feet and getting closer to Elliot, a worried frown on his face. 

“It’s alright… it’ just…” Elliot mumbles, tilting his head back in order to stop the bleeding. He presses the tissue that Tyrell hands him, then. 

“That’s odd. You never had a nosebleed around me before.” Tyrell comments, staring concernedly at his partner, a few inches from his face. Elliot just shrugs it off. “I think I never had a nosebleed like, ever.” 

When he moves his eyes on Tyrell, he finds him intent on scanning him, clearly worried sick. Damn, the man is such a sweetheart. Elliot decides to reassure him with a joke.  
“Maybe it’s a sign of the end of the world!”

* * *

The rest of the day goes smooth, but Elliot can’t avoid that weird feeling inside of his guts growing up. Something akin to uneasiness. 

He goes to Allsafe, joins his meetings, plans their future actions, gets lunch with his childhood friend Angela and his father. Talks about the wedding, about Tyrell, about their future honeymoon. But something is still there, hidden inside him. It’s like an omen. 

And that omen is realized in the exact moment he enters his apartment in the late afternoon, finding someone standing in the middle of the room. Someone dressed in black. Someone who looks exactly like him.

* * *

Hello friend.

I guess you must be pretty confused by now, but so am I. What I am about to tell you is just my point of view. I can just spread the information that I got; I can’t make up a different story from what I experience with my senses.

I know, I haven’t always been perfectly honest with you. I chose to hide details, to manipulate the plot. But believe me when I say that now I’m being completely crystalline with you. 

After Whiterose’s machine had exploded I have woken up without a scratch, finding out to be in another world where my father is still alive, and still runs the shop named by me. I got to be honest with you, I didn’t have the guts to see him. I know that he has the same look as Mr. Robot, but it’s different. He’s real, he’s a real monster. Mr. Robot is an imaginary one. He can’t possibly kill me, no matter how hard he tries. 

I ran to my childhood house, and now here I am. Staring at the physical place where my nightmare has begun, without knowing what to do. 

If this world is a parallel universe, then it means that my father never worked for E-Corp. What else has changed? Did he… hurt me, here, in this world?   
Before I realize it, my mother has exited the house. In my world she’s dead, here she’s pretty much alive and even smiling at me. 

Fuck me…

She trots to me and hugs me and all I can do is to squirm on my spot, speechless. She looks generally pleased to see me. It almost seems that she loves me. Shit. This is too weird.   
“Elliot. Are you ok?” she asks that once inside the house. I’m still staring at the furniture: the house is the same but yet everything is different, like brightened by a new light. Less dark. Less shabby. 

I need to see my room. The window. Is too important to miss. 

But what I find next is a closet, placed in the exact same place as my room.

“Where is my room?” I ask, shocked, to my mom, who’s scrutinizing me with a worried gaze. It’s foreign on her. She doesn’t even look like my mother; they seem two completely different persons. She would never be worried about me. Am I dreaming? This feels real. 

“Your room? It’s where it always had been.” She opens a door with that. The room doesn’t slightly recall mine. It’s pretty, comfortable, cozy. This is the room of a happy person. This is not the room of a person that has been assaulted. 

I can just stare and gasp, scanning the items with wide eyes. Then, I sit on the bed while exhaling a long, tired breath.   
“Mom…”

She places herself next to me and holds my hand. The touch feels odd. She had never done that before. 

“…Did dad, and you… ever hurt me?”

My question almost makes her cry. She strokes my cheek, eyes watering and brows furrowed in an empathetic gaze. 

“Elliot… your father and I would never, never hurt you.”

…Maybe she’s lying. Maybe it’s all an act, it’s a play. But it feels real. Her look at me, too, feels real. It’s warm, and nice. The look of someone who loves you. I crave those looks.   
“What’s going on? I’m worried about you.”

And I also crave a mother who worries about me. I wish I could make this real. I wish this could be my reality. Whiterose was right; there is a better world where is worth living.   
I can’t reply to her, I’m too lost in my thoughts. Too shocked. I want to cry, but she wouldn’t understand. She would get even more worried, and I don’t want that. She loves me, she’s my mother. I love her too. Is that what normal people do?

“Is it about your wedding?”

Finally, my eyes meet hers. If before I was shocked, now I’m completely started. 

“…Wedding?” I repeat, dumbly, feeling my mouth dry. 

She sighs and diverts her gaze, never stopping caressing my hand.

“I know, it’s a big step. But you don’t have to worry about it, you and Tyrell are meant to be together for the rest of your lives.”

Wait.   
Did I hear it wrong?  
It can’t be, can it?   
Shit. 

There must be a mistake.

“Tyrell…?” I can just ask, completely stunned. But she just laughs at that. 

“Yeah, you make such a cute couple. And he’s such a nice guy! Your father adores him, but you know that, don’t you?” 

Tyrell… a nice guy? And, what – my _father_ \- adores him?!

“It will be nice meeting his family. I have never met someone from Sweden, well, besides Tyrell himself, obviously. I heard they are quite polite people. Discrete, you know? Oh my god, I just hope Edward won’t do anything awkward, you know your father…”

She has started to talk in a flow, but all I can do is to gasp like a fish while I find myself standing in front of her, ready to bolt.

“Where is Tyrell now?” I inquire, interrupting her. She makes a face, seeming off guard just for a moment. “Well, where he has to be, I suppose. F-Corp. Where else?”

F-Corp?!

This is all fucked up. I leave her dumbfounded on my bed while I run away, suddenly feeling again the crepitant sensation of anxiety in my chest.   
I need to find out more; I need to go to my apartment. 

So, in this world, I have apparently good parents who love me, and I am about to marry… Tyrell. This is one of the most messed up things that I ever experienced. And the worst part is that it doesn’t sound too weird at all. 

I fantasized so much about a better world, a better life. A world where things haven’t gone rotten like in mine. But I could have never, never added Tyrell in this fantasy. This is insane.

My mother said that he’s a nice guy. It can’t be the same old arrogant prick that I know. No… everything is the same but different here. People are different. 

Me, for example.

My apartment is clean and tiny, bright, even. It doesn’t look like mine; it doesn’t look like my style either. No… this guy, this guy is not me. Can he be me?   
I stare at the pictures attached to the bulletin board on the wall. 

This guy doesn’t look like me. We’re the same, but we’re not. He’s happy. He’s lively. He always smiles in pictures. 

There are pictures of a different, happier version of my childhood, pictures of me and my friends, Angela, and then… there it is. A picture with Tyrell, the Tour Eiffel behind us. But he doesn’t look like him, he hasn’t got a smug expression on his face, he’s not wearing a fancy-ass suit, he looks rather shabby and disheveled. 

There’s no trace of Darlene. Where is she? Am I an only child here?

I need to dig more. I need to hack myself. 

“What are you expecting to find out?” Mr. Robot’s voice talks snarly into my ear next to me. I scoff at that. “Ah. You’re here.” “Of course I’m here, kiddo. I’m you, remember?”   
I decide to give him the silent treatment while intent on hacking myself, and he seems distressed by that. 

“But you… you’re not that guy either.” He taps his index on the screen, over a picture of me and Tyrell drinking mojitos in a bar. We look… happy. And in love.   
Is this true? Is this possible?

While I slide the images on the screen, I realize how perfect the life of this guy can be. Another realization grows in me: I want that. I need that. I want to take it. I want it to be mine. 

The envy starts to boil up into my chest, and all I can do is crave these things. 

For me, it has always been struggling and pain. I deserve them, I must have them.

A life worth living. A future ahead of me, ahead of us. 

“Listen to me, kiddo. You must stop, this guy is not you, you’re torturing yourself!” Mr. Robot is back at yelling at me, this time clenching my shoulder and forcing me to look at him. I push him away.

“Shut up!”

He gets back hooking my shoulders, screaming into my face. 

“No, you fucking listen! You’re making it worse. You can’t have those things; you’re not meant to…”

No. No. No. NO. 

“SHUT UP!” 

I don’t wanna hear it. I don’t need to.

Driven by instinct, I snap on my feet and grip the collar of his shirt, slamming his body to the nearby wall.

“Kid, you’re just drowning in a sea of sorrow…” he breathes out, now sounding oddly sad, melancholic. I grit my teeth in pure anger.   
I deserve those things. Why is he against me? Why is he always trying to jeopardize my life?!

Why can’t he just let me do what I want for once?!

I’m about to tell him so, but I can’t. A new sound catches our wary attention. We snap our head toward the source, and I gasp in shock when I find a boy entering the house.   
He looks exactly like me.

* * *

Please don’t judge me.

I had to.  
There was no place for the two of us in this world. 

Mr. Robot is commenting on my actions next to me while I put the other Elliot in a box. He’s like an annoying crow on my shoulder, always remarking what I do to make my chest feel heavier. 

But I can’t stop and listen to him now. I need to finish this, to get this right. I will fix everything. This is the life I have always dreamt of, and I can’t let the opportunity slip through my fingers. 

I move the box downstairs. In this world, I got the same car as Tyrell. I wonder which car he owns, then. He doesn’t look like the type of guy with a fancy SUV, here.   
I’m about to move the load on the car, when a cop starts to question me. For some reason, I’m already used to the strangeness of this reality, so I don’t react when I notice that the cop is none less than Dom herself. 

Apparently, she’s nosy and suspicious in this world as well. 

Things get messed up when she notices the bloodstains expanding from the box. 

Shit.   
But I can’t stop, not now, so I do the only thing I can: escape. I run to the underground and take the first train, firm in the realization of my plan. Mr. Robot is still trying to make me change my mind. He sits in front of me, reminding the first time we met. 

“You’re still in time.”  
“SHUT UP!” I yell at him. Nobody can hear; the train is empty. And it stays empty until we reach Coney Island. 

I got it. I’m finally here. Where is he? I know I’m late, but it should be ok, shouldn’t it?  
Why does everywhere have a mask on their faces? FSociety’s mask. 

_Why this mask? It’s a little bit silly, isn’t it?_

There’s something off. I’m missing something I’m missing something.

“I told you, kiddo. This is not you. It’s not your life.” 

Here comes Mr. Robot’s annoying voice again. I wish I could play the silence button on him. 

Those people are freaking me out. I can feel them staring at me, judging me. I believed I had found a world where people love me, where I finally gain the love I need. But they’re not my friends. They are enemies, people are my enemies. And they’re everywhere. 

I need to get the fuck out of here. Find a place secure, empty. We’re on Coney Island, what if…

I found myself running to FSociety’s hideout before I realize. My legs just move on their own, sprinting fast without control, leaving all those evil people behind my back. I can feel their eyes glued on me. 

It’s a relieving sensation when I enter the former arcade. I enjoy the absence, the emptiness. I can breathe again.

I move my palms on my knees and gain back the oxygen in my lungs. Finally, safe. Alone. I’m always struggling against my loneliness, but in the end, that is the only way to make those voices stop screaming in my head. 

Now I can plan something. I can figure out how to fix this mess, I can…

“Bonsoir, Elliot.”

The voice makes me jump in a start. It’s him. He’s standing right there, in front of me. Tell me that you’re seeing this too. He wasn’t here before, he appeared from nothing.   
“Is it really you?” my question comes out almost in a whisper. What I would really want to say is: what the fuck is going on?

He makes a face and wrinkles his nose. “Quite close. It’s you, actually.”

What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

All I can do is gasp, dumbfounded. He’s taking a few steps toward me, now. But he’s not the same Tyrell of the pictures: the man with sweet eyes, who dresses rather shabby despite his social status. The man who the other Elliot loves. No, it’s how I remember him. Dressed sharply with an intimidating, predatory gaze plastered on his face. The eyes that terrify and intrigue me at the same time, like a morbid image that you cannot avoid looking at, even if you know that is not right to do so. 

“What do you mean… it’s me?” I breathe out, eyes wide and mouth parted, in shock. He’s still getting closer and closer, and while he’s canceling the distance my heart is starting to hammer fast in my chest. 

Shit. I need to get a grip. I can feel it, control; I’m losing it. 

Tyrell grins. He looks like a shark. 

“Why didn’t you listen to yourself? You can’t have this life, Elliot. You’re not meant to.” 

I shake my head. Mr. Robot is enough of a nuisance, I don’t need Tyrell too telling me what I can and cannot have. 

“No… you’re wrong.” 

He’s so close to me now, invading my personal space as usual. He’s looking at me with that stupid, malicious smirk, and I suddenly have the urge to cancel it from his smug face.   
“You need to wake up, Elliot. Get back to your other life.” 

“There’s nothing left for me in the other life!” I yell into his face, but he doesn’t flinch or change his expression.   
Shit. I feel like I’m starting to melt under that heavy gaze. His eyes are tearing me apart, flaying me, slicing me open. 

“It’s not true and you know it. What about Darlene? She’s waiting for you.”

Darlene? Shit. I almost forgot about her. Where is she? What is she doing? He’s right, I can’t leave her behind…  
I swallow, my eyes now glued to the floor. Maybe I’m starting to hesitate. Maybe I’m not that sure anymore about this world.

A foreign, cold sensation hits my senses. It’s Tyrell, his hands are on my cheeks now. He’s stroking my cheekbones with his thumbs, scrutinizing me like I’m the most precious thing in the world. Shit. I’m starting to love when he does that. I can’t help it.   
I close my eyes and inhales a long breath. Melting in the touch. Enjoy this a little longer…

“What about me? You said that you will be back.”

Suddenly, his voice wakes me up from that blunt state of confusion. I snap my eyes open and take a step back. 

“No… I can’t. This is not right. You’re mean, and cruel, and…” 

Tyrell scoffs at that. “You’re the one to talk, Elliot.” 

“It’s different, I’m…” my voice comes out as a stuttering mess. I can’t even convince myself, after all. Tyrell raises his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Let’s say that maybe I’m all those things, ok? But I’m also broken. In pieces. I’m reconstructing myself, and trying to create a better me.”

He takes a step forward and moves a hand on my cheek again. I’m out of words. My mouth feels dry. Maybe I’m trembling too.   
He talks a few inches from my face, in a soft, silky whisper. 

“Don’t give up on me.”

Our fronts collide. 

“I need you by my side.” 

His breath is tickling my lips. 

“Don’t give up on your world. You can still fix this.”

He’s stroking my cheek. I have started to cry. I don’t know when. 

It’s sweet. I wish I could enjoy this a little longer. Intoxicating is the right word.

When I speak, my voice comes out cracked. 

“…How?” 

He continues the soft, delicate treatment. The caresses, the sickly-in-love look on me. If I could stop time, if I could make it real…  
He kisses the side of my mouth. His voice in my head causes a violent chill in my spine. 

“…Heal.”

Heal.  
I heard that one before. 

“But first…” and Tyrell is speaking again on my mouth with that silky, soothing voice. I close my eyes and enjoy the warmth.   
Can I make it real? 

“…You have to wake up.”

* * *

The light is unbearable.   
I struggle to try to get my eyes open. Every attempt brings a new annoying failure. 

After a while, I can finally focus on the room around me. I can’t recognize it, and everything is still blurry and too bright. There is a noise in the background that seems like a TV program running on. There’s… someone sitting next to me. A girl. She’s watching the screen absentmindedly, sprawled on the chair with her fingers entangled together on her belly.

My voice comes out hoarse while my mouth feels as dry as a desert. 

“Darlene…”

She jumps on her spot at that and hastily leans toward me. 

“Oh my god, you’re awake!” It’s strange to see her like this. With that worried frown on her face. No malice. No snarky remarks. Just a concerned sister.   
Perhaps I’m still stuck in that world, perhaps it is still part of my messed-up hallucination. 

“Is this real?” I feel the urge to ask her. She holds my hand, and it does feel real. But I don’t trust my senses, not anymore... they tend to be deceptive.   
“Elliot.” She sighs and looks at me with a heavy, intense gaze. “It’s real. You went to Whiterose’s power plant to stop her machine.” She makes a pause, maybe looking for my reaction, but all I can do is stare at her with wide eyes. Yeah, I recall doing that. My confrontation with Whiterose. Her stupid mindfuck game. The power plant exploding. Me and Mr. Robot launched in another world. 

Darlene smiles. It’s strange; it’s sweet. Her eyes have that shade of sadness too when she smiles. She tightens the grip on my hand.

“You made it. You saved the world.” She tells, simply, after a while. I’m about to open my mouth to say something back but I freeze, in shock. Did… I? 

It looks real. It feels too.   
Her smile widens while she starts to rub her thumb on the back of my hand. She looks proud.   
Shit. I crave those looks.

I find myself thinking that maybe, maybe I got it. A world where people can look at me with love. Maybe I don’t need to search for it in another life.   
I was wrong. I don’t have to give up on this world. There’s still so much to fight for. 

My eyes are dumbly starting to water. I wish they didn’t. I don’t. Shit. This is ok. I guess I deserve to cry by now.   
Besides, Darlene is crying too. She wipes a tear and sniffles, then, she makes something akin to a laugh. 

“There’s someone else here for you.”

I shoot her a questioning glance, receiving another laugh back in response and a small nod of her chin toward the door of the room. It’s open and overlooks the corridor. Someone is talking on the phone on the other side of the threshold, frantically walking in circles. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, John! I told him not to buy those actions, and what have we got?! We lost seven million in a fucking afternoon, unbelievable!”

I would recognize the voice between many. Especially when it sounds this pissed off. The corners of my mouth curl up into a tiny smile.   
I hear him going on with his outburst in the corridor. 

“That guy is a freaking loose cannon, I’m telling you. I should fire him right away, but I’m becoming magnanimous in these recent times.”

Darlene scoffs and rolls her eyes at that and, honestly, can’t deny that she has a point.

There is a pause of silence where Tyrell never stops to ramble nervously around. 

“…I told you. Can’t go to the office today. I’m busy.”  
I feel kind of strange at those words, but I can’t place why.   
“…It’s private.”

Finally, Tyrell’s sight moves on me while he passes next the open door. What comes out next is in between hilarious and absurd. 

He exhales a surprised breath while taking a step toward me. His phone fells to the floor with a thud, and that’s kind of goofy and cute. 

“Tyrell…” I say his name while I find myself smiling, dumbly. It’s like he needs another few seconds to realize the scene, but then, he snaps to the edge of my bed, kneeling next to me and grabbing my hand with spirited eyes. 

“Elliot…” he exhales my name in simply adoration, clenching my hand tight. His fingers are cold as usual. I let out a small laugh, and it’s kind of weird: I’m doing a lot of this crazy shit. Laughing, smiling. It’s a foreign sensation that I’m starting to enjoy. 

“I believe you dropped your phone.” I inform him, stupidly; it’s the first thing I can think of. My mind feels kind of dizzy, to be honest. I don’t know if it’s because of the fact that I woke up from a coma, or because of my travel in another dimension, or because of him, actually. 

Tyrell shakes his head, wrinkling his nose. Child-like. 

“I don’t care.”

It’s kind of an insane conversation. 

Our gazes are entangled together, it’s intense and heavy, but for some strange reason I finally feel comfortable. As if I had been finally able to wash out all the shit it was weighing on me. I feel… lighten up. Liberated. 

Maybe it’s really all about the aftermath of an interdimensional trip. Who knows. 

“How are you feeling?” he asks, never letting go of my hand. I shrug, casually. “Ok. I guess.” It’s the best honest answer that I can give him, but it’s enough to make a beautiful, relieved smile appears on his face. 

Shit. I’m getting sloppy here. 

Is he really that different from the guy of the other world? Am I really that different from my other self?   
Right now, it doesn’t feel like it. 

Darlene scoffs and gets on her feet. Then, she casually walks to where Tyrell’s phone is still laying on the floor and grabs it. I look at the scene, curious and amused, while it seems that Tyrell’s eyes can’t detached from me. 

She brings the phone to her ear and clears her throat dramatically.

“Yeah, it’s me. Evil Corp’s boss. I want to communicate that, from now on, all the employees will have an increase of the 20% on their salary. No, wait a minute, 50%!”   
At these words, Tyrell suddenly wakes up from his apparent daydreaming and snaps to her, probably regretting the choice since he grits his teeth in pain and presses a hand to his belly with the gesture. 

“Give me that!” he exclaims, petulant, snatching his phone from Darlene’s hand and bringing it to his ear. 

I can’t help but laugh at the scene, exchanging an amused glance with Darlene who has now a smug, sly grin on her face. 

This is… stupid. Isn’t it? But it’s ok, I guess. 

Tyrell talks with a frantic voice. “John! No, sorry about that, it was just… no! No I’m not ditching work to get laid, you dumb idiot. Listen, I’ll call you later, ok? Yeah, yeah. Ok. Yes. Jesus Christ you finished?! Ok. Bye.” He shoots a dirty glare at my sister after hanging up. 

“Darlene-” he spats, venomous, pointing an inquisitive finger at her with what is supposed to be a severe expression on his face. “You’re such… an immature.”

She scoffs and throws her arms in the air in response. 

“Sue me!” 

I can’t help it; I haven’t stopped giggling like an idiot. It’s strange, but nice. I want to do it more. 

Tyrell’s face softens a bit when he notices me. He sighs and runs a hand in the hair. 

“I’m glad at least Elliot has found this gag entertaining.” He simply declares, as a matter of fact. 

I bite my lip and smirk casually. “I don’t know, maybe you should really give them a salary increase, man. Evil Corp sucks.” Tyrell rolls his eyes in a hilarious way. “It’s not that simple Elliot. It’s different from…” his voice trails off and he seems hesitant. “From…?” I urge him, unable to keep back the sarcasm in my voice. 

“…From hacking and saving the world. It’s much more boring and complicated than that.” he spats, in the end, maybe a little bit flustered. 

“Is it?” I raise a brow in suspicion and for a moment, he’s just scanning me with a pensive look. But, again, for some strange reason, I don’t shiver under that gaze. I don’t feel uncomfortable. It’s almost like I finally got armor now. I’m almost ready to face the outside world and not being terrified by it. 

“You know what-” he starts, spreading wide his arms in the air. “You should verify yourself. Come work with me. We’re a good team, after all.” 

For a moment, all I can do is gasp, caught off guard. Shit. I heard that one before. A proposition. 

I stare at him, and Tyrell’s eyes are almost the same as the first time, when I got ‘abducted’ and escorted to Evil Corp, in that big room full of lawyers. A predatory, sharp gaze. But this time I can’t possibly feel threatened. On the contrary, I… shit. I think I like it. Do I? 

_I want you to be where you belong. Here, with me._

Darlene perceives my internal crisis and decides to intervene in the scene. 

“Jeez, dude! Elliot has just woken up. He doesn’t need to think about stressful stuff like this!” she playfully scolds Tyrell, who brings a hand on his chest dramatically. “You’re right, Darlene. My bad. Elliot needs just some rest right now.” 

I’m about to retort something, but I stop. Do I need some rest? It’s true that I’m tired as fuck, my eyelids feel heavy and I’m struggling to stay awake, but still… I don’t want to sleep and find out that this is all a dream. I’m tired of avoiding reality by now. 

Darlene smiles at me and squeezes my shoulder. Another time, she perceives my state of mind, my uneasiness. 

How could I be such a dickhead with her? There is a synergy between us. I need her in order to stay alive, I’m starting to feel like she’s my guardian angel or something.  
“Elliot, there’s nothing to worry about. I promise you-” and there’s a glimpse in her eyes, so intense that makes me shiver. “This is all real. You can finally rest; we’ll be here for you.”

I nod, feebly. I move my eyes on Tyrell, who’s smiling at me behind Darlene, with his arms crossed on his chest. Shit. He’s beautiful. I feel lucky. It’s stupid, because I had a life of misery and misfortune. I never, never felt lucky in my life before. 

A new, odd, foreign sensation.   
And it’s nice to get asleep with it.

* * *

The following days pass fast. I’m pretty much asleep all the time, and when I wake, there’s always someone on my side.

Darlene is pretty much always here. She speaks a lot and I listen, a scheme that is kind of typical. But I start to be more interactive. She tells me about Dom, about Budapest, about her job proposition. 

“I don’t know… I would have never, never thought of myself as a pig. I mean… FBI? I’m pretty much a criminal myself, dude.” She spats, munching cookies while seated next to my bed. I shrug it off. “I don’t know, man, I think you could be kind of useful in there. Besides, it’s different, it’s cybersecurity. It’s not that you’re going around threatening and shooting minorities in the block.” 

She makes a face at that, clearly showing her doubtfulness. 

“I just…” I mumble, casually. “I think you should consider it. Eventually.” I know that I’m not the most convincing person, but, for a moment, she looks at me thoughtfully. 

“…Jeez. Alright. I’ll _consider_ it!” she exclaims, throwing her arms in the air, after some time spent in reasoning. My response is just a sly smirk.

Sometimes, Leon comes too. The first time he enters the room he has a big blunt between his lips, a thing that I guess it’s not very appropriate for a hospital but, well, it’s Leon, after all. 

“Yo Elliot! You look like shit, bro. I heard you were in a coma and I had to check on you, you know. Things a bro needs to do. Damn, boy! How was the coma? Did you get an NDE? A friend of mine got one, once. He did this blow of ketamine, and then, boom! A tunnel of darkness, except a distant, bright light that was calling him. This is spiritual shit, you know? Nah, I’m not gonna lie to you, this shit freaks me out, bro…”

Our hours spent together are pretty much the same as the ones we used to have in prison, except that I’ve started to try to speak a little more, as for, personal social exercise with people. Leon, however, is like a volcano of information and sometimes is kind of difficult to process everything he’s telling. 

Krista visits too, once. It’s unexpected and pleasant at the same time. And it’s… officially the first time I see her outside therapy. It shouldn’t be very professional, but, well, I guess that being kidnapped by a psycho gangster together has kind of changed our relationship on the way. 

Then, there’s Tyrell. He comes too in the very poor spare time he can get from his job. 

“You should… go home and rest, man, instead of wasting your time with me. Must be stressful to be Evil Corp’s big fish or something.” I feebly say the first time he enters my room, after what is supposed to be a long day of work. 

He makes a face while sitting elegantly next to me. His fancy cologne instantly fills the air around us. 

“Don’t be silly, Elliot. The time with you is never wasted.” He replays, with his trademark smug smirk on his face. Of course, he never stops flirting with me. That’s just the standard, by now. 

His expression then shifts into something akin to sadness. “Besides… I don’t like being at home.”

I swallow, suddenly uncomfortable. Joanna, his son, the memories. I think I get it. I’m about to say something but he precedes me, talking with new, odd enthusiasm.   
“…This is why I’m buying a new place in Tribeca!” he reaches out his phone from the pocket of the jacket. “Here, let me show you.”

I make a face. “Dude… I really don’t give a shit about your new house in Tribeca.” I inform him, with surprising and brutal honesty but, of course, he totally ignores my words and starts to show me pictures of his new fancy apartment. 

And it’s pretty much like that. 

We talk about trivial stuff a few times. It’s like everyone is avoiding talking about ‘hard topics’ with me, letting me rest a little bit.   
But it’s temporary. I can’t avoid facing certain things, what I am about to do is to heal, after all. 

This is why now I’m here, in front of Coney Island’s amusement park, waiting for him. A week after my release from the hospital.

Thing is, having all the personalities finally reunited in my head had given me a new sense of consciousness, but also a lot to think of. The memories are slowly starting to resurface, and not all of them are pleasant. I miss Mr. Robot. But I can’t, at the same time. Because he’s here, inside me. All of them are. I’m… complete. 

Tyrell parks his car in front of the rollercoaster, and it feels too damn familiar. Except that the light is fading now, starting to leave space for the evening darkness. 

I remember him telling me the Red Wheelbarrow poem here, even if I remember it as a distant memory from a blurry dream. That time, I got curious about his words, at first. He looked at me so intensively. He seemed desperate, about to cry. 

_I don’t understand. Help me to understand. I want to._

I wonder if he still believes that I have anything to teach to people. I don’t, to be honest. 

He places himself in front of me and looks around, wary. 

“Why this place? It’s… odd.” 

“Because it means a lot to me.” My answer comes quickly and firm, and he seems satisfied with that. I start to walk, hands in my pockets as usual, but he stays on his spot, hesitant. 

“Come.” I tell, turning slightly at his direction. He doesn’t need to make me repeat a second time.

We get on the ferris wheel in a heavy, dense silence. It’s like he doesn’t want to break it, like he feels almost too intimidated to do so. He’s waiting for me to talk, and I indulge him just after a while. It’s almost dark now. 

“When I was in coma… I went to another world. It was, like, a parallel dimension.” I start to explain, and Tyrell’s pensive frown is glued on me. I sigh, I make a pause. This requires a lot, after all. 

“In that world, I was… me, but not me. I had a better life. I was the CEO of Allsafe. I had a good apartment, a lot of friends.” 

He continues to stare, probably wondering where I’m heading to with this speech. 

“You were there too.” 

His eyes are crossed by a glimpse of interest at that. I bite my lip and shift on my spot. 

“But you were… different. I mean, you still were Evil Corp’s CEO, but you wore a grey hoodie.” 

Tyrell scoffs at that. “Oh. That’s so low on me.” I ignore his joke. “You had glasses.” Another laugh, another banter. “That’s hardly possible, Elliot. I check my sight once a year and I’m…-” “-…You seemed kind. And sweet. Maybe a little bit awkward.” 

He goes silent, and, suddenly, his expression shifts into something serious and concentrated. He understands that I’m not much about in the mood for jokes. I’m not just… telling a stupid dream or something. 

The wheel has reached a quarter of its ride. Funny though, last time I was here, the seat in front of me was occupied by Mr. Robot. But it wasn’t even totally me, wasn’t it? Just a part of me. Mastermind. 

I exhale a long breath, ready to go on. “We were together. And we were happy. We were about to… marry.”

I realize how this must sound crazy, my friend. So, I understand why Tyrell gasps like a fish at these words, totally interdicted. Yeah, I would have probably had the same reaction myself, to be honest. 

What I say next requires a biblical effort. I divert my gaze, because I can’t stand his eyes on me, at the moment. They’re simply too much. 

“I thought I wanted to have those things. I… believe I still do.”

I can’t see his reaction, and it’s better to keep being oblivious. 

“…But… I don’t… believe… it’s possible. Now.” Every word is a boulder on my chest. I realize I’m trembling, slightly. My eyes are starting to water, again, out of control. I guess you can’t have control over such things, can you? 

Suddenly, my throat feels tight, and I can’t go on talking. It’s him who breaks the silence after a certain amount of time spent just scanning at me, trying to decipher me. I’m still not able to look at him. I could break. At any moment. 

“Elliot…” he’s closer to me now, but I refuse to turn my head toward him. I keep stupidly looking at the distant horizon. At the lights of the city.   
“We can have those things. We can…” 

Shit.

“Tyrell… I got to be honest with you.” my voice comes out trembling and cracked. When I finally look at him, I feel completely exposed under his eyes. As usual, he’s slicing me open. Tearing me apart. 

“I… I got a split personality disorder due to the trauma that my father had given me before he died. He… he…” 

Fuck. I can’t do this. The words get strangled in my throat while I feel my cheeks getting wet. Tyrell is staring at me wide-eyed, his brow furrowed in a concerned frown, his jaw clenched. 

I’m shaking, out of control. Fidgeting on my spot, tightening my fists on my knees. 

“He… abused me. When… when I was a kid.” 

Fuck. Feels strange to tell that. It makes it more real. I’m telling this; now it’s official. 

It’s painful to say it. But feels also… inevitable? Another burden that I couldn’t avoid anymore. 

Tyrell seems just shocked. For a moment, I think he got broken or something, because he doesn’t say anything. He’s frozen, stunned. 

Then, I see it: a sole tear running on his cheek. I don’t want to make him sad with my shit. I guess it is kind of typical for the people who gravitate around me. But I’ll change it, eventually. 

“I… I don’t know what to say.” He exhales, after a while, almost in a whisper. And, yeah, maybe it’s a dumb thing to say, but I guess it’s kind of extremely true and sincere. I guess that nobody has the right thing to say in these kinds of circumstances. 

I manage to let out what sounds like a bitter laugh. “There’s nothing much to say, man. Just… you and me. It has always been fucked up, and I didn’t want it to be like that. I do want to… give it a try. But…” I sigh. It’s painful. His pained eyes, are painful. 

“…I got… shit to deal with, first. I… I don’t think I’m ready for this.” 

I find myself thinking again that maybe he got broken. Because, again, what comes out next is a long, excruciating pause of silence. But another teardrop flows on his skin. He wipes it with the back of his hand.

Shit. Maybe he’s about to get angry. I deluded him with that kiss, at the motel, before saying hello. Perhaps he thought everything would have been all fun and games after that.   
No… what am I even thinking? I didn’t delude him. I wanted to kiss him, and that was the right thing to do. Now I want to take some time to sort my things out, and that’s the right thing to do too. 

I’m studying his figure, searching for the spark of anger, the annoyance. But, in the end, he just sighs and runs a hand in the hair. His voice comes out bitter and tired.

“…I understand.”

I guess the Tyrell I met in my mind, or dream, or other reality, whatever it was, was right, in the end. He’s really trying to do better. He’s really trying to… create a new self.   
So am I. 

“You need time. I’ll let you have whatever time you need to deal with your past. You need to do… what’s necessary.” 

Those words are so right that stings. I’m grateful, but also sad. But is like as Mr. Robot said, I need to pass through the shitstorm in order to heal properly. I’m glad Tyrell can comprehend this too. 

The ferris wheel has almost finished the round. Soon we will have to say goodbye, and you know that I’m bad with this kind of shit, my friend.

I sniffle. I never stopped crying, apparently. 

“Ok.” I just say, dumbly, almost to myself. When our eyes meet again, I feel like melting. 

“Thank you.”

He nods, but stays silent. 

The round is finished. We get out from the small cabin and stop one in front of the other. This is painful, but just.   
Necessary. 

“I just want you to know, I’m not gonna give up that easily on you.” There’s a slight faint trace of irony in his voice, and I’m grateful for that. It makes it less heavy.   
I smirk. “I know… you’re… persistent.” 

The small exchange of smiles that follow is kind of heartwarming. I don’t want him to be mad at me, to hate me. I know that my decision is hurting him, but it’s not easy for me either. 

“Wait for me.” I tell him, after what is perceived as an eternity. 

He sends me a smile. Kind, soft. There will be a lot of these smiles, all in good time.

“Everything for you, min skatt.” His voice is silky. Dreamy. I wish I could drown in it. 

After a last sharp, quick, nod, I put my hood on and walk away, giving him my back, hiding the tears in my eyes. 

I’m just doing what’s necessary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friend :) 
> 
> I hope this chapter isn't too chaotic!   
> I promise you the next one will be finally soothing :)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello friend!
> 
> Ok, so... I finished watching Mr. Robot and, as you I suppose, I got my heart broken by that episode. My mind got struck with a few ideas and I needed to fix it with an alternative story. I'm not sure, but it could end up in a 4/5 chaps fic where I will partially follow the canon. 
> 
> I don't even know why it took me so long to watch this show!! I mean, it has instantly become one of my favourites EVER. It's simply amazing and I love the characters so much! It got me really emotional, it's intense and beautiful. 
> 
> A premise: English is not my first language, so I humbly apologize for the typos. I really hope it's not a disaster and I also hope you enjoyed this first chapter :)   
> I don't usually use the first person POV, but since the show uses it too I thought it was more adequate. Anyway, it will switch in third person in Mr. Robot's POV in some parts.


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